The Devil's Magician

by Rick Jones

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  ––––––––

  When Isaiah looked up with vision coming from one eye, the other having swollen shut, he saw the eyes of a madman staring at him. The eyes that appraised him with concerned study were the size of communion wafers, which contrasted greatly against a bearded face the color of blood-red. Every line and feature of his appearance demonstrated a disposition that was primal savagery, and of someone who had no civil manner since such behavior would be completely alien to him. When this man reached out to him with his hand, Isaiah forced his head back to avoid his touch. But the man with the red face calmly stroked the backs of his fingers against Isaiah’s bruised cheek, the touch soft and caring.

  And then this man spoke, his tone hollow and distant as if speaking from the end of a long tunnel with his hands funneled around his mouth. “It’s all right, Isaiah ...I’m going to bring you home.” This man continued to caress Isaiah’s cheek to settle him, to let him know that the enemy would no longer use the stock of his weapon against him again.

  At first Isaiah appeared somewhat baffled at this man, the Vatican Knight tilting his head to the side trying to understand. He looked beyond the red mask of death and beyond the whites of his eyes, and saw blue irises that could be as cold as ice or as warm as a Caribbean sea. These eyes that looked upon him were warm, however.

  “Kimball?” he asked.

  Kimball cupped a hand behind Isaiah’s head and pulled it forward until their foreheads touched. “How are you, my brother?”

  “I didn’t recognize you ...All that blood.”

  “It’s not mine,” he commented, removing a sidearm. “Not a drop.” He took aim of the chain that held Isaiah to the ceiling ring, and set off a few shots. When the links broke, Isaiah went to a knee.

  Kimball, after holstering his weapon, got on a knee beside him and placed a hand against Isaiah’s back to steady him. “Can you walk?” Kimball asked him.

  “Yeah,” he said, standing. “I may have a cracked or bruised rib, not sure which. But I’ll be fine.”

  Kimball looked at Isaiah’s wrists which had a red-and-raw look to them, as well as the way he leaned to one side to favor his injured ribs. “Are you sure, Isaiah?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Then from Kimball. “What about the cardinal?”

  Though Isaiah could see through the one eye, the spark was brilliant and sharp.

  “They separated us from the beginning,” he said. “I haven’t seen Leviticus or Cardinal Alnasseri since the transport to here, wherever here is.”

  “You’re still in Damascus,” Kimball told him.

  “And you?” Isaiah pointed to the beard that wasn’t entirely unkempt, but was spotted with shades of deep red. He also pointed to his neckline, which lacked the white band of a Roman Catholic collar.

  Kimball nodded ‘no.’ Then: “I’m haven’t come back to the church, Isaiah. It’s not as much of a calling to me as it is for you. I came here at the request of the church as a civilian. I came here because you’re my brothers. And you always will be.”

  “Leviticus?”

  After a moment that was long enough for Isaiah to nearly repeat himself, Kimball finally said, “He’s gone, Isaiah. Hassan made an example of him before I could get here.”

  Isaiah saw the warring struggles against Kimball’s face, the quick and sudden shifts of his features as they vacillated between anger, sorrow and guilt. “It’s not your fault, Kimball. You came. That’s all that matters. You can’t save the world and everybody in it. But you can save most.”

  Kimball nodded as if he agreed with Isaiah’s assessment, but his emotions continued to fight for his soul with anger, sorrow and guilt leading the way over reason and understanding.

  Then from Kimball, “We need to find the cardinal. And we need to find him quick.”

  Kimball opened the flaps of his coat which appeared to have taken some hits from gunfire, the holes numerous, detached the straps of the Uzis, and handed the weapons over to Isaiah. “As far as I know,” Kimball told him, “the building’s clear, but I couldn’t find Hassan’s commander. He’s either gone or I missed him during the sweep.” He handed Isaiah the magazines as well. All he had left to his military repertoire were his two combat knives, a suppressed Glock, and a pair of flashbangs.

  “If he’s here,” said Isaiah, “I’ll find him.”

  Kimball pointed to Isaiah’s bad side. “Are you up to this, bad ribs and all?” he asked him.

  Isaiah responded by ejecting the magazines from both weapons, checked the rounds, then he reseated them in the slots with authority and a grimace. Since there were bullets already inside the chambers, there was no need for him to rack either weapon. Then with a nod, Isaiah said, “Let’s find the cardinal.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  ––––––––

  As they moved as one going from door to door in the sublevel, Kimball realized how much he missed all this—how he missed his team. People like Isaiah, despite the disability and use of one eye, was still an elite soldier that was over and above others.

  As they moved down the corridors, they came upon a metal door that was not bolted from the outside. With the suppressed Glock in Kimball’s strong hand, which was his right hand, he reached for the latch with his left, pushed down on the lever, and swung the door wide. The hinges protested greatly as the door opened, the sound piercing which caused Kimball to wince not because of the heightened pitch of the noise, but because it gave away their position should somebody be lying in wait.

  They waited outside the door with Kimball on one side and Isaiah on the other.

  Then in a motion with both hands gripping the Glock, Kimball rushed inside aiming and scanning his weapon from side to side, hoping that his dragon-scale armor could hold up against a barrage of a firefight long enough to return fire in the direction of the muzzle flashes.

  But there was nothing but the cold, damp darkness of the room.

  From a darkened corner chains rattled: “Please help me ...I need water. That’s all I ask for ...Water ...Please.”

  Kimball moved forward with his Glock leading the way, to concentrate on the voice that had been weakened over time. Isaiah was behind Kimball holding the Uzis that were strapped to his shoulders, the Vatican Knight scanning his immediate area.

  “Please help me.”

  The voice sounded aged and old.

  But when Kimball neared and his eyes a little more tuned to the darkness, he was able to make out the shape of a man sitting against the wall. The moment this man within the shadows raised an imploring hand toward Kimball, a chain rattled as he reached out to the former Vatican Knight. There was a shackle on his wrist, which was attached to a length of chain that had been moored to a plate in the stone wall.

  “Please,” said the man.

  As Kimball moved closer and his eyes eventually discerned this man’s identification from e-files sent to him by the SIV, he lowered his weapon.

  They had found Cardinal Alnasseri.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  ––––––––

  Cardinal Alnasseri appeared in a weakened state, though he did not appear to have any of the bruises or abrasions that were clearly visible on Leviticus and Isaiah. Secondly, after Kimball was able to free the man from his cuff, he noticed that the cardinal didn’t hold any rawness around his wrist that the Vatican Knights had. Apparently they were more congenial in their treatment of the priest than they were with Isaiah and Leviticus.

  “Thank you,” said the cardinal, looking into Kimball’s eyes. But what Alnasseri saw there was not madness at all, but contained anger that could be unleashed at any moment. The blood that painted his face was a testament to that. Then from the cardinal: “These people. What do we do? How do we get out?”

  “The facility has been neutralized,” Kimball told him.

  “Where are we?”

  “You’re in Damascus.”

  Cardinal Alnasseri
turned to Isaiah and quickly noted the facial damage. “And you, are you all right?’

  “I’ll be fine, Cardinal.”

  “And the other one? The one called Leviticus?”

  Kimball cast his eyes to the floor. “He was killed,” he said. “By one of your captors.”

  Cardinal Alnasseri’s face dropped at this, the look itself one of great sorrow.

  “He will be remembered well at the Vatican,” he said. “This I will see to.”

  “Thank you,” said Kimball.

  “And you are all that’s left?”

  “We are.”

  Then the cardinal cocked his head. “And who would you be, young man, since you do not wear the collar of a Vatican Knight, but apparently you fight like one.”

  “My name’s Kimball Hayden, Your Eminence.”

  Abdullah Kattan did everything in his power not to betray his emotions with anything as simple as a micro-expression, such as a start in his eyes or a flaring of nostrils. Instead, the man in cardinal’s clothing remained remarkably calm. “Then I thank you, Kimball Hayden.” Then a moment later, as curiosity gripped him, he asked, “Are you not a Vatican Knight? Are you not the one who leads the team?”

  “I did,” he answered. “But I walked away from the church.”

  “And why is this?”

  “A long story,” he returned. “But right now, Your Eminence, Isaiah’s going to take you to safer quarters.”

  “And you?” Isaiah asked Kimball.

  “I’ve got something to do. People to meet.”

  When Kimball spoke like that, when he sounded off with authority that was muted by enthusiasm, Isaiah knew that he was on somebody’s trail for reasons Kimball could not let go.

  “Kimball,” said Isaiah, “return with us.”

  Kimball shook his head. “I’ve scores to even, Isaiah. And you know me. I’m not done until I’m done, and my soul be damned for doing so. Now get the cardinal to safety.” When Kimball turned and walked away, he stopped in the door’s frame where he became silhouetted against the backdrop. “And Isaiah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I never see you again ...I want you to know that you’ll always be my brother.”

  “I’ll see you again,” he told Kimball. “Leviticus needs a proper ceremony. If you are his brother as you are mine, then you’ll be there.”

  Kimball stood riveted for a long moment without saying a word, and then he was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  ––––––––

  So, Cardinal Alnasseri thought as he no longer wore the clothes of Abdullah Kattan, but the garments of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, my team is dead and the priest who is not a priest is no longer a Vatican Knight.

  As the van was driven by an aging cleric to the Syriac Catholic Church, the body of Leviticus lay on the floor between the cardinal and Isaiah, with Isaiah appearing to be in his own world with his own thoughts.

  At least, Kattan considered further while looking at the body of Leviticus, Hassan went out swinging as a good soldier should. He and the others would be martyred, he told himself. Brave warriors who died under the watchful eye of Allah. And perhaps their death would serve a greater purpose. I’m now a free man under the guise of a false prophet, who will now enter the church and destroy it from within. Oh, Allah, how truly brilliant you are.

  Once he reached the Vatican, he knew there would be those who would question the oddity of his behavior or comment how he was a different man. Simple, he would tell them, I will no longer take matters for granted, since God has seen that I survived when others did not. I believe this was His will for a reason. What that reason is, however, remains to be an unknown.

  And as a member of the preferiti and a preferred member by the Conclave to be a strong candidate to sit upon the papal throne, he would stake his claim in time. With saintly patience he would remove the pontiff from position and dispatch the strongest members of the preferiti, leaving himself as the most viable contender. Smiling inwardly, Cardinal Alnasseri, who was truly Abdullah Kattan and a doppelganger who had to do little to wear the mask of a pious man, would become the cancer that would first threaten, and then destroy, the church from within.

  All he needed was time.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  ––––––––

  Kimball Hayden waited inside the shadows just beyond the gates that led into Firat Rashi’s estate. After going over the e-file schematic that had been sent to him earlier by Vatican Intelligence, Kimball expanded the thumbnail sketch to study the home’s layout. As the sky turned a shade of midnight-purple, Kimball committed every foot of the estate’s design to memory. But getting to Rashi would not be easy, given that his security team continuously wandered the grounds with high- end assault weapons.

  Checking his own stock which consisted of a suppressed Glock and a pair of magazines, a couple of Ka-Bars and two flashbangs, Kimball had all he needed to breach the palace that Rashi had built.

  Moving through the stilled shadows of night, Kimball moved to the brick wall that surrounded the grounds, a ten-foot-high obstruction that surrounded the entire ten acres of well-cared property.

  After circling the estate, Kimball realized there was no way to top the wall. The only way in was through the front gate. So, returning to that position, Kimball saw the mounted cameras high on the wall, took careful aim with his suppressed firearm, and pulled the trigger.

  ...Phfttt ...Phfttt ...

  ...Phfttt ...Phfttt ...

  Two shots to each camera, quick and on mark, the rounds smashing into the metal hulls to debilitate them. Sparks emerged with crackles and snaps before dying off, the red lights indicating the lenses that were active were now off. Kimball, like the predator he was, waited in darkness.

  * * *

  Inside the security comm-center within the sublevel of Rashi’s estate, two of the monitors from a bank of many winked off. The two cameras spying on the front gate no longer transmitted images, leaving that position vulnerable. The security tech leaned forward and tapped his finger against the screen, as if the action would spring the images back to life. It didn’t, so he contacted the security team by way of walkie-talkie and asked the guards to check the equipment, which they did.

  When the two guards reached the gate, the cameras were outside of the wall, which meant that they were also out of view. Unlocking the gate by pressing a code into a keypad, the gate began to swing inward. When they came to a rest the guards exited the grounds and took immediate note of the hardware high up on the wall. The cameras had been purposely damaged, their casings smashed by bullet rounds.

  Quickly, they raised their weapons to scan the area. But before they could get off a shot, something raced forward from the darkness and overwhelmed them both, something that was blacker than black and moved like the wind, quick and fleeting.

  Neither guard had a chance.

  * * *

  After a few minutes with zero contact from the guards, the security tech who was watching the monitors called out to them with his walkie-talkie.

  Nothing but white noise.

  Even after several attempts.

  After scanning multiple screens that lined the console and seeing guards who walked and talked as they perused the grounds, the tech contacted a second unit to check on the first, which they acknowledged by giving the nearest camera a thumbs-up signal.

  After they walked out of the camera’s range and disappeared from view, the tech set his walkie-talkie aside, eased back in his seat, placed his hands behind his head, and waited.

  * * *

  Kimball Hayden saw them coming. A pair of guards. Both speaking in Arabic and moving with little urgency to check on the first unit. And Kimball saw them as men of complacency who had little to worry about so deep in Damascus, and apparently saw the estate as an impenetrable fortress because no one dared to raise a hand against Firat Rashi.

  Complacency, thought Kimball, waiting for their approach inside the shadow
s, will get you killed all the time.

  As the guards approached, Kimball returned the pistol to his shoulder holster and retracted his knives. They felt good in his hands, they felt natural. In cases where his target moved within range for a stealth approach, Kimball always preferred the close combat of double-edged weaponry to save on ammo.

  As they advanced toward the gate, a guard stopped his approach and grabbed the other by the arm, halting him.

  Perhaps, Kimball reconsidered from inside the shadows, they weren’t complacent after all. At least one senses great danger.

  In hushed whispers one guard spoke to the other, prompting him to raise and direct his weapon forward.

  Then with caution the men pressed forward, taking slow and prudent steps.

  They can feel me. They know I’m here.

  The Dark Predator set his feet, bent his knees and gripped his knives, the man readying himself to coil and strike.

  Hushed whispers, one man directing the other.

  Closer now, both their scents upon the wind, the smell of fear.

  And Kimball waited to choose his moment.

  When one of the guards diverted his path to check the shadows within a grove of tall shrubbery, Kimball’s hand lashed out with serpent-like quickness, cupped a hand around the guard’s chin, and pulled him into the veil where they had been swallowed by darkness, the guard dropping his gun to mark the spot where he last stood.

  The guard who sensed danger with prickly ears turned to check on his associate, only to discover evidence of an unarmed weapon marking the last known spot of its owner.

  Raising his own weapon, something shot from the darkness. End over end, as the turn of the knife whispered through air, the keen point of its tip lodged deep between the man’s eyes and drove deep, the Ka-Bar killing him instantly.