The Brimstone Diaries

by Rick Jones

  “Excellent. Since my position here at the Vatican may have been compromised, we may have to step up the timetable. Tell me, have you found the Mechanic?”

  “I did. He’s willing to piece together the unit for one million U.S. dollars.”

  “This project is starting to get expensive, Fariq.”

  “But won’t the outcome be worth it, Abdallah?”

  The false cardinal nodded at this. “You’re right. There’s no cost that can be attached to the absolute destruction of the Vatican. Now tell me about this Mechanic.”

  “He was an asylum seeker from North Korea who made his way south. After he’d been processed and granted sanctuary, he disappeared. Now he’s willing to sell his services to those who are willing to pay the price. In this case, one million dollars.”

  “I want him in Rome as quickly as possible,” Abdallah Kattan said.

  “He’s in Barcelona. We’ll have him on a flight to Rome within a day or two. As soon as he arrives, we’ll inform you of his whereabouts.”

  “Excellent. I'll need to convey to him as to what's expected of him for the price he's asking.”

  “Understood.”

  Closing communication, the man who proxied for Cardinal Alnasseri stood on the balcony that overlooked the city of Rome. So far, everything appeared to be running in accordance with the operation. The item for purchase was well within reach. And the Mechanic was onboard for a fee. By the end of the month, should there be no disruptions, Vatican City, a country that was the size of an 18-hole golf course, would become a no-man’s land for centuries. As he considered these thoughts, the corner of Abdallah Kattan’s lips rose into a one-sided smile. I am the spreading cancer who will destroy the church from the inside out, he thought. I am the metastasizing agent. Then he returned to the comfort of his seat, which was the same chair he murdered Cardinal Restucci, and began to read the Koran.

  Chapter Twelve

  ––––––––

  The Papal Chamber Inside the Apostolic Palace

  Vatican City

  Inside the papal chamber, Pope John Paul III; the co-directors of Vatican Intelligence, Fathers Auciello and Essex; and Kimball Hayden were all gathered. Outside of the pontiff who sat behind his baroquely-designed desk, everyone else sat in wing-backed chairs.

  “Three dead,” said Father Auciello started. “All confirmed to be from the lineage.”

  The pontiff nodded his head disapprovingly. “Now the killings begin,” he said,

  “like they did for more than a hundred years after the book was stolen in the year 360, and for decades more after it was stolen for a second time in 1355.”

  “Killings?” Kimball asked. Then: “What book are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the Brimstone Diaries,” the pontiff answered.

  “The Brimstone Diaries?”

  Father Auciello nodded. “When the murders of the Vatican guards happened inside the Secret Archives,” he began, “a very special book was stolen. The Brimstone Diaries. Since then we’ve had members of Vatican Intelligence canvassing the entirety of Europe looking for the book.”

  “But you haven’t found it yet,” Kimball intuited.

  “No.”

  “But you know who has it.”

  The pontiff nodded, then said, “We believe it to be Opus Dei.”

  “You believe? Or you know? I mean, Opus Dei wasn’t created until 1928. So, how could they have been responsible for the book’s appropriation if they didn’t exist when the murders started to take place centuries ago?”

  “Opus Dei is a development from the Prelature Order of the Cross, which was created long before the black plague started to run its course through Europe. But as we gather evidence on this,” Father Essex told Kimball, “we’re coming up short. Opus Dei is a shot in the dark since their ancestral organization took part in the book’s theft on two prior occasions with devastating results.”

  “But you don’t know for sure if it’s Opus Dei.”

  Father Auciello shook his head. “What we do know is that people listed within the Brimstone Diaries are being killed off systematically. Just like they were for more than a hundred years after it was first stolen in the year 360 by the Prelature Order of the Cross, and once again after 1355, right after the Black Death nearly wiped out the entire line and half of Europe with it.”

  “What line are you talking about?” Kimball asked. “And what exactly is this book?”

  “The Secret Archives,” said the pontiff, “as you know contains tomes and articles that have been secreted away and can never be revealed to the public. They contain truths in which the principals, such as myself, and in some cases, believe would hurt the church. The Brimstone Diaries was one such book.”

  Kimball leaned forward in his chair. Yes, of course the church had its secrets, but all nations and governments did, always trying to hide their dirty little secrets under the carpet. The church, however, being cast in the light of piety had far more to lose. Then: “So why am I here?” Kimball asked evenly. “What is it you’re not telling me about the Brimstone Diaries? And why wasn’t I informed about this when the guards were killed? All you told me at the time was that a sacred item had been stolen.”

  “Which is true,” stated the pontiff. “An item was stolen.”

  “But you didn’t tell me what. And now three people are dead because of it.”

  “Kimball, at the time we believed that the book could be obtained by the efforts of Vatican Intelligence,” the pope answered. “And not all things of secret are to be shared with the Vatican Knights. There is a circle of silence that must be maintained. But now, seeing that three members of a sacred faction have been assassinated, we need to bring in the Vatican Knights to protect the interests of the church.”

  “And what interests might they be? And let’s start with the beginning, shall we?

  Let’s start with the Brimstone Diaries.”

  And that was exactly what they did. They started from the beginning.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ––––––––

  London

  When Marsha Gibbons entered her flat and closed the door behind her, she placed her bag in the hallway and went to the living area. The room was cramped with spartan furnishings. There was a seat and matching hassock, a magazine rack and a stand. In front of the chair was a small table that supported a thirteen-inch TV. Grabbing the remote on the stand, she aimed it at the television and hit the button. A moment later the TV came on with the words of closed captioning showing at the bottom of the screen.

  Marsha Gibbons was deaf.

  Laying the remote aside and going into the kitchen, she opened a cupboard and grabbed a small tin. Inside were tea bags. After setting aflame a burner and placing the kettle on the fire, Marsha returned to the living room.

  The television was off, the screen blank.

  Baffled, she grabbed the remote and depressed the button.

  Nothing.

  When she took aim by pointing the control directly at the television, that’s when she saw a reflection of something darting across the screen behind her.

  Barking a cry and dropping the remote, Marsha wheeled around to confront this shape.

  But nobody was there.

  Slowly, she began to edge her way down the hallway feeling a sense of alarm. And like a cat she began to mew, nothing but soft whimpers as tears began to build up along the rims of her eyes.

  I’m not alone!

  When she reached the end of the hallway, she grabbed the knob and opened the door. Across from her were the wrought-iron gates of the lift. As soon as she was about to step into the landing, a hand as large as a skillet wrapped around her mouth and pulled her inside the flat.

  Though she resisted to the point of exhausting herself, the attacker released her. When she turned around to acknowledge her intruder, her eyes immediately fell upon the white band of a cleric’s collar. A priest? Then she noted the displays of art that were wonder
fully showcased on his flesh. Jesus was wearing his Crown of Thorns, and the Mother Mary prayed. When she looked the priest in the eyes, however, all she could see was a man who operated with the cold fortitude of a machine.

  This man had come to kill her.

  Falling to her knees and clasping her hands together in an attitude of prayer, Marsha tried to ask for forgiveness, though her words were somewhat distorted due to her infliction.

  Reaching for his wristwatch, the priest grabbed a small pin above the watch’s face and pulled it. A metal cord began to unreel, the line itself a metal filament with serrated edges.

  A garotte.

  The woman, now sobbing and shaking her clasped hands desperately before the priest, bowed her head in submission and prayed.

  The priest, who stretched the cord to its maximum length, leaned over, wrapped the garotte around her throat, and lifted her off the floor. “I am a vessel of God,” he cried out. “And I have been chosen to make the world pure from sin!”

  With blood lust in his eyes he began to pull the cord tight, until the serrated line cut deep into her flesh.

  After he laid the body of Marsha Gibbons aside, he returned the cord to its spool inside his watch, went to the hallway where he rummaged through her bag, grabbed the thick novel she was reading, and left the flat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ––––––––

  The Papal Chamber Inside the Apostolic Palace

  Vatican City

  “Right after the crucifixion of Jesus,” the pope began, “the apostle Peter continued to spread the word of Christ throughout the lands, eventually becoming the first pope of the Roman Catholic Church. As he took on the first reign of Catholicism, he began to memorialize the life and passing of Jesus and Mary Magdalene. In this diary, which was written by the hand of Saint Peter, he chronicles the union of Jesus and Mary Magdalene as a conjugal relationship between husband and wife, with the joining providing a child between them, a girl. Since the church did not want to closely tie Jesus with Mary Magdalene because of her association with prostitution, the church saw a need to bury the truth.”

  Kimball nodded his head disapprovingly. “You’re telling me that God and Jesus could forgive Mary Magdalene of her past sins, but the church couldn’t?” “You have to understand, Kimball, the church did not want the masses to believe that the church would condone such actions, or that prostitution would be acceptable. To constantly sin and justify such actions would only lead to the justification of other sinful acts. The church did not want scandals to follow since the practice was to teach morality, not immorality.”

  “And the child that was born to them...”

  “Was deemed a child born by sin who grew to become a mother of her own.”

  Silence prevailed for a long moment before Kimball finally broke the silence.

  “So, Saint Peter chronicled the life of a child who carried the genetic bloodline of Christ through this tome called the Brimstone Diaries?”

  “It wasn’t called the Brimstone Diaries until after its theft in 360,” said the pontiff. “What was once a diary by Saint Peter, eventually turned into a genealogical chart of the bloodline that’s been constantly updated by Vatican scribes over the years. When the Prelature Order of the Cross took the volume in 360, those who carried the blood of Christ were being murdered systematically. The same as we see what’s going on right now. Back then it took decades for agents of the church to track down those responsible for the executions, as well as to return the book to the Secret Archives. That’s when the tome was termed the Brimstone Diaries, by those within the Prelature Order of the Cross who looked upon the bloodline as the church’s dirty secret. Christ was the Redeemer of our sins. It should have been us on that cross and not Him. Yet the Prelature Order of the Cross considered the bloodline tainted with sin, and that anything involved with Christ should remain pure until His Second Coming. So, anyone who was born from a woman who was associated with prostitution was considered sinful against the name of God and Jesus. The purge was unsuccessful, of course, but not until many were killed during the process. “Thereafter, the church created the Guardians, those who believed in the value of the bloodline as something sacred, and thereby monitors those who carry the blood of Jesus.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Kimball. “Why keep it a secret? Why not let the people know of this miracle? Why not let them believe in something that’s truly holy?” “Because those who carry the genes of Christ would never be able to live out a simple life,” Father Auciello intervened. “Can you imagine the people pounding at your door wanting to touch the skin of someone who was a descendant of Christ? Or what about the crazies who would target these people just to make a name for themselves, like killing them for some sick religious purpose only they could understand? Worse, what if the women were raped because the rapist’s only intention was to have his child be a part of this bloodline, by sowing his seed?” Father Auciello nodded his head disagreeably. “No, Kimball, the Brimstone Diaries are meant to keep a record of the bloodline, while protecting these people so they can live out a normal life as possible. They are here because they remind us that God still walks among us through them. We are truly blessed.”

  Kimball saw his point. The world and the minds that reside in it are often chaotic, with people doing crazy things for crazy reasons.

  “But there must be tens of thousands,” Kimball said.

  “The Prelature Order of the Cross had many agents who believed that they were doing God’s work, just like the Nocturnal Saints who saw to cleanse the church of its controversies and corruptions. The Prelature Order of the Cross was no different in their ideologies. In 1355, four years after the Black Plague wiped out fifty percent of Europe, as well as nearly everyone within the sacred bloodline, the organization stole the tome once again and nearly cleansed the entire lineage of Jesus. Again, agents of the church were able to ascertain the book before the rest of the volume could be interpreted.”

  “So, we’re talking about what here? How many thousands of descendants since?” asked Kimball.

  Father Essex said, “Thousands.”

  Kimball scoffed. “And you really think that the Prelature Order of the Cross, or Opus Dei, has the number of crusaders to take them out?”

  The pope leaned forward in his seat and placed his hands on his desktop.

  “Kimball, it took the Germans less than four years to wipe out six million Jews. During Operation Barbarossa in 1941 when the Axis powers invaded the Soviet Union, Himmler visited Bia³ystok in July 1941 and requested that any Jew left behind the German-Soviet borderline was to be regarded as a ‘supporter’ of the Russian regime. Based on this reformation, Himmler gave officials full authority for mass murders behind the front-lines. By August 1941, every Jewish man, woman, and child was shot, this being the first phase. In the second phase of annihilation, all the Jewish inhabitants in Europe were transported by trains to gassing facilities. More than one million Jews were murdered by these means before the plans for the Final Solution were fully realized in 1942. Only then was the decision made to annihilate the entire Jewish population in camps that were fitted with permanent gas chambers to kill large numbers of Jews in a short period of time. By the end of World War Two, there were only three-and-a-half million Jews left.” The pontiff eased back into his seat. “What I’m saying, Kimball, is that all crusades first begin with an idea, and then with implementation. Should that implementation gain a head of steam, who’s to say how far Opus Dei, if it is Opus Dei, would go to succeed in their efforts. That is the reason why we learn valuable lessons from history; to stop the spread of sickness. What we must not do, is take for granted the capabilities of our enemies. And for those reasons, Kimball, you and a team of Vatican Knights must get that book back before it can be deciphered in its entirety. We cannot afford innocent people who have no concept as to how important they are to Christianity die. We must preserve the line. If we don’t get that book back,” stated the pontiff, “
there’s a chance that with today’s technology and the power of Opus Dei, the bloodline could be wiped out within a decade, if the Brimstone Diaries were updated properly by the Vatican scribes who maintain them.”

  “And you want me to gather a team and go where?”

  “To London,” said Father Essex. “The next two names on the list reside there.Right now, we have the Guardians watching over them.”

  Then from Father Auciello: “But the Guardians are not soldiers, Kimball. They’re layman who have little to no combat skills. They serve as obstacles when a threat gets too close to the target. Right now, we have a pair of bobbies watching a target as we speak. Marsha Gibbons. Other Guardians are moving in to surround and support a second focus of interest, who’s also in London.”

  “Let me guess: you want me to put the thumbscrews to those in the Opus Dei field office and its principals.”

  “No, Kimball,” the pontiff stated softly. “You need to protect the assets. And it appears that whomever is doing this is operating systematically, with the names coming up in order as they were scribed within the tome. The process of interpretation may be slow at first. But as the software program learns the encrypted code and begins to break it at an exponential rate, it will most likely list the names spelled out in the diary. Once that information is obtained and downloaded into the informational databases of our adversary for all to see, there’ll be nothing the church can do to save those people. We need that book before they can decipher its contents. And we need that book as soon as possible. Go to London, ask questions, and get the answers we need to find that tome.”

  “If they have a software program that can decode the writings within the book, and seeing that they have assassinated three people already, the program must be learning at an accelerated rate. You did say it took several years to decipher when it was stolen before, yes?”