The Brimstone Diaries

by Rick Jones

  After the Jesuit nodded, they shook hands.

  As soon as the team entered the unmarked SUV, Father Ferrano drove the vehicle through the checkpoints and off airport property. Once the vehicle turned onto Stanwell Moor Road, it maneuvered south and then east on Southern Perimeter Road, then to the heart of London.

  “Do you have additional information from the Vatican?” Kimball asked the priest.

  Father Ferrano nodded. “One name,” he answered. “Robert Bowman. Caucasian male, early thirties, no family on record. Both parents and a sibling were killed in an auto accident, and another sibling died of cancer. Bowman is the last of his particular line. In less than thirty minutes from now, he goes on stage at Conway Hall to talk about his book. Once he’s done, that’s when we move in to place him into protective custody. And we do this as quickly and as quietly as possible.”

  “As quickly and as quietly as possible? Then I have to assume that Bowman has no idea as to what’s coming his way.”

  “No, sir. Not at all.”

  After taking a series of left and right turns, they came to Oxford Street, which was a busy part of London’s downtown region. After turning on New Oxford Street and then onto Theobalds Road, Father Ferrano made his way to Red Lion Square and parked the vehicle close to Conway Hall.

  Inside the SUV, Father Ferrano turned to the Vatican Knights seated in the back. “Underneath your seats,” he told them, “you’ll find suppressed weapons and pancake holsters for each of you. You’ll also find beneath these seats the jackets that bear the emblems of the Vatican Knights, and Bluetooth devices for communication. Strap on your firearms, then use your coats to conceal the weapons.” Saying nothing more, Father Ferrano exited the vehicle and waited for the Vatican

  Knights to ready up.

  After the Knights had prepped, they left the darkly tinted-windowed SUV wearing jackets that were specifically tailored to cover the weapons they carried. On the right lapel of each jacket was the emblem of the Vatican Knights, a coat of arms that set the unit apart from the rest of the clergy. Centered within the coat of arms was a Silver Cross Pattée set against a blue background. The colors were significant for the fact that silver represented peace and sincerity, and blue the traits of truth and loyalty. Positioned alongside the design stood two heraldic lions with their forepaws holding the edges of the shield to stabilize it. The implication of the lions was a symbolic representation of bravery, strength, ferocity and valor. “The engagement begins in forty minutes,” said the Jesuit. “And what we have here are two options.” Father Ferrano removed a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket of his coat, then spread the paper over the hood of the vehicle. It was the schematics to the Hall. “We can have a two-man team watching for the assassin from exterior positions. Or, if he’s already inside, we position a team from several points surrounding the presumed target.” The priest started to mark off four points with a Sharpie to signify positions close to the stage. “Conway Hall isn’t very big. However, if we position ourselves at these locations I marked off, that would give the ground-floor team the ability to carefully watch over the zone they’re assigned to. We now know what this guy looks like. But don’t get locked on to his MO as dressing as a priest. If he believes he’s been compromised by the Guardians, he might decide to change things up a bit. Nevertheless, he’s a big guy that sticks out in a crowd—loaded with tats unless he decides to cover them up. If he chooses to err on the side of caution, he’ll likely take position somewhere along the catwalk with a rifle. A fifth player should be up there”—He circled the catwalk on the schematics— “to make sure that the assassin doesn’t get the chance to draw a bead on his target.”

  Kimball turned to Isaiah. “That’ll be your position,” he told him. “Up there along the catwalk. The rest of us will be on ground level close to the podium except for Father Ferrano, who will monitor the entryway. If anyone sees anything anomalous, and I mean anything, use your Bluetooth to communicate. Questions?”

  There were none.

  Then Kimball turned to Father Ferrano. “Questions, Father?”

  The Jesuit shook his head.

  “And keep in mind that the optimum thing here is to achieve the means without collateral damage,” added Kimball. “If possible.”

  After Father Ferrano folded the schematics and returned them to the vehicle, he said, “We’ve less than fifteen minutes before Bowman takes the podium.”

  Kimball noted the Jesuit’s statement by saying, “Time to position up.”

  The Vatican Knights maneuvered through the rear entrance, whereas Father Ferrano went to the front of the Hall where a crowd of protesters gathered. People were chanting and waving signs, with the masses berating Bowman for his atheistic views and saying that science was not God.

  As Father Ferrano took position approximately fifty feet from the protestors, he carefully examined the crowd. He saw those who were young and old, and others who were both crippled and strong. He heard chants that bore the words ‘Bowman’ and ‘the Eternal Lakes of Fire.’ But he did not see the tattooed man.

  While Father Ferrano maintained his post, he enabled his Bluetooth. “Kimball, can you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, Father.”

  “I don’t see the subject in question.”

  “Copy that. Continue to survey the area. We’re setting position inside the Hall.”

  “Copy. And out.”

  Father Ferrano continued to maintain his position.

  * * *

  At least a dozen constables set a line before Conway Hall to keep the protestors at bay. One bobby, however, repeatedly slapped the club of his T-baton into the palm of his hand as a show of force, though no one in the crowd dared to contest him. As the line of constables maintained a steady wall, the bobby fell back and entered Conway Hall.

  Behind him, the masses continued to chant.

  * * *

  Father Ferrano watched a constable enter the building, a man who was significantly larger than most. Then over his lip mic, he said, “Kimball, we may have a ‘potential’ walking into Conway Hall dressed as a bobby. I couldn’t get a good look at his face, but he’s a considerably large man. No tats to speak of since his arms were covered by the sleeves of his uniform.”

  “Copy that.”

  When communication was broken, Father Ferrano kept his eyes on the crowd.

  * * *

  The constable walked through hallways that milled with people such as reporters and photographers, the officer angered by the notoriety and attention that Bowman was getting over his viewpoint that science was the true God.

  A blasphemer!

  An apostle of Hell!

  A contaminate to the bloodline!

  The constable continued to thread his way through the crowded hallways until he exited through a doorway that led to a corridor behind the podium. Walking the length of the hallway, the constable entered the backstage area and began to ascend the steps to the catwalk.

  As he reached the catwalk high above the stage, he made his way around the platform so that he was facing the stage. The shadows around him remained unmoving, the darkness that enveloped him now his ally. Taking his T-baton— which was a club that had a short side handle sitting at a right angle to the shaft, and was about six inches from one end of a two-foot rod—the assassin used his fingers to grab the slightly protruding tip at the baton’s end, where he then extended a telescopic barrel from the club’s length to create a long-barreled rifle. Once done, he unscrewed the short-side handle from the baton to expose a trigger, then fastened the short handle to the barrel’s tip, turning it into a suppressor. Inside the barrel was a single round, a .45 caliber.

  Getting onto a bended knee, the assassin watched over the audience as they began to file in and take their seats.

  As the crowd began to settle, the assassin noticed four oddly dressed priests.

  From the waist on up through the parted jackets they wore, they appeared pious in their traditional cleric�
�s shirt and Roman Catholic collar. From the waist down, however, they appeared militant in their cargo pants and combat-issued boots. As the arena’s lamps dimmed apart from the stage lights, the crowd began to cheer.

  Robert Bowman, the man who prayed to his God of science, was about to take the podium.

  High upon the catwalk the assassin leveled his weapon, took aim, and waited for the keynote moment.

  * * *

  The Vatican Knights were spread out evenly across the ground floor as people began to parade inside the hall to take their seats.

  Kimball Hayden was situated in front of the stage, searching. If there were Guardians in the audience, he could not detect them. More so, the assassin in the video was a no show, which meant that if he was there at all, then he must have taken to the shadows.

  Kimball spoke into his lip mic. “Isaiah?”

  “Right here.”

  Kimball looked up at the catwalk tiers that were steeped in shadows. “I can’t see anything up there from my position.”

  “There’re a lot of catwalks up here, Kimball. A lot of darkness, too.”

  “He’s not down here and the seats are filling up fast. I’m thinking he’ll take to the shadows in an area that gives him an unimpeded line of sight with a firearm, assuming he’s here at all.”

  “Copy that. Moving to the sections where such a shot would be available.”

  “Copy.” After cutting off contact, Kimball called on the Vatican Knights who were scattered across the room. No one had seen the assassin or anyone who looked remotely like him. After Kimball called on Father Ferrano, the priest acknowledged that the crowd of protestors was growing. But he had not seen the person of interest. When he asked Kimball about the constable in question, Kimball stated that he had seen no such person, at least not in Conway Hall. Just as he was about to sever communication with Father Ferrano, the luminosity in the auditorium began to dim except for the stage lights.

  Robert Bowman was about to take the stage.

  * * *

  Isaiah moved quietly through the shadows forty feet above the auditorium. Seats were filling to capacity. Then as the lights began to dim, the shadows around him began to deepen. As applause sounded below, Isaiah moved along the metal grating of the catwalk when he spotted a silhouette that appeared blacker then black. It was as still as a bronze statue, and something that didn’t seem to have any semblance of life to it.

  Slowly removing his suppressed weapon from his holster, Isaiah closed in.

  That was when Robert Bowman took the stage below.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ––––––––

  Robert Bowman was a professor of Practical Science and Philosophy from a university in the United States, who was born and raised as an evangelical Protestant in a Bible-belt state. As he grew up, Bowman eventually favored the practical knowledge of science over the impracticality of Biblical miracles, stating that there was a scientific answer for everything that was deemed to be magic during the Golden Age of Holy wonders.

  After publishing his second volume based on the words of Arthur C. Clarke who once stated the ‘magic was science not yet understood,’ Robert Bowman illustrated this by describing the scientific methods that we now know about today that could explain away these ancient miracles.

  Once he stood behind the podium, Robert Bowman began his speech by stating that he was not an atheist by any means. He did, however, believe that Biblical miracles could have been governed by the Hand of God through the intricacies of science, by managing everything from the smallest microbe to the largest creature on the planet to serve a purpose. In other words, Nature was perfect.

  “For instance,” he said, “let’s talk about the plagues in Egypt that forced Pharaoh’s hand to release the Jews from bondage. The first of these plagues, as we all know by now, was that the Nile River turned into blood. Why? Scientifically speaking, the river turned the color of red due to an algae bloom, which is common today. In turn, this bloom changed the Ph levels which became toxic to the fish and frogs. Therefore, the fish whose dietary staple was to eat the frogs’ eggs subsequently died off, while the frogs took to land in record numbers to avoid the poisonous bloom.

  “Thereafter, as the frogs succumbed after having been forced from the river, their carcasses soon attracted lice and flies. In turn, the disease-carrying lice caused bluetongue in cattle, which is a fatal virus that wiped out nearly seventy percent of Egypt’s livestock.

  “The flies, also attracted to the deceased frog carcasses, then spread the glanders bacteria to humans, which caused boils.

  “From this domino effect of a disrupted ecosystem came the Three Days of Darkness. Right after the plague of boils, a sandstorm lasting three days was so intense that it blotted out the sun, causing darkness. During this time, the heat of the sandstorm collided with a cold front, which caused the hailstorms. And because of this weather system, the high winds pushed the locust population from Ethiopia and into Cairo. In turn, locust dung combined with the wetness of the hail resulted in the creation of micro-toxins. Then as these micro-toxins were fed to the first born, whose immune systems could not handle the poisons, which resulted in their deaths.

  “All these plagues happened as a direct result of a faltering ecosystem. To the Egyptians back then I’m sure this appeared as voodoo magic, which we can now explain today as natural effects caused by science and nature. But the question remains on whether the timing was directed by the Hand of God. Did He time these effects by using Nature as His influence over Pharaoh? Perhaps. But the conclusion here is that our advanced knowledge of today’s science can now explain the causes of the plagues that forced Pharaoh’s hand.”

  After Bowman allowed time to pass as a moment of dramatic pause, he then said, “Now let’s talk about Exodus when Moses led his people to Mount Sanai, which is actually not in Egypt at all but in Saudi Arabia...”

  Bowman continued to lecture.

  Chapter Twenty

  ––––––––

  Blasphemy!

  Heathen rants!

  The assassin took aim with his firearm. Bowman was on stage behind the podium speaking about Moses, about Exodus.

  “It is said in the Bible that Moses followed the pillar of fire by night and the cloud by day, until they reached the promised land. What are we talking about here? Well, there are six volcanoes in Saudi Arabia of which five were dormant. Only one was active during the time of Exodus. Only one. So, the cloud by day was the plume of volcanic ash due to an eruption, and the pillar of fire was the molten spew from the caldron by night. Again, science has confirmed that one volcano was active during this time in the entire region of the Middle East. Did God once again use His divine powers to exercise the forces of nature as a guiding force? Was the spew of ash and lava a beacon to Moses used to guide him across the desert plain? Perhaps...”

  As Robert Bowman spoke, the assassin continued to seethe with anger and hostility.

  Pointing his weapon so that Bowman’s head was within the crosshairs of the makeshift rifle, the assassin placed his finger on the curve of the trigger and began to apply pressure. Just as he was about to pull the mechanism, he caught a fleeting shadow at the corner of his eye. It was quick moving, the shape at the outmost peripheral vision of his sight.

  The assassin knew that his position had been compromised but was able to maintain his sight, his calm, then pulled the trigger the moment the shape was upon him.

  ...Phffft ...

  He was able to get off the shot that sounded no louder than someone spitting.

  * * *

  “Perhaps by the will of God?” said Bowman, who was referring to the active volcano which may have served as the lighthouse to guide the people to the promised land. “So I say again: was Nature being directed by a spiritual force—”

  At first it sounded like an annoying gnat buzzing around the ear, that waspy hum that quickly came and went. Then there was a slight burning sensation against his ear, which q
uickly turned to white-hot agony. Leaning over the podium and wincing against the pain, Bowman reached for his ear, felt the oddity of hanging flesh, and brought his fingers away covered with blood. For a long moment he studied his fingertips dumbfoundedly, the speaker going so far as to wiggle his fingers for some odd reason.

  That was when he was tackled to the floor by a large man wearing a cleric’s collar.

  Soon thereafter, the audience began to scream.

  * * *

  Just as Isaiah reached the assassin, the odd-looking rifle went off with a muted sound.

  Looking over the railing, Isaiah noted that the round may have nicked Bowman by the way the speaker appeared perplexed while looking at his blood-glazed fingertips, until he was finally tackled to the floor by Kimball Hayden. Immediately, the assassin got to his feet and swung the weapon at Isaiah in a horizontal arc, the rod cutting a horizontal arc that knocked the gun free from Isaiah’s hand and to the catwalk. But the Vatican Knight was just as swift by countering with a series of fisted blows to the killer’s chest, the strikes coming fast and furious as the Vatican Knight’s arms moved with the speed of engine pistons. As Isaiah knocked the larger man off balance with countless blows, the assassin dropped his weapon to the audience below. Then he cried out with volcanic rage as he cocked his arm and drove it forward like a ram, with the punch knocking Isaiah off his feet and against the rail with the impact so hard it caused internal stars to circle within his vision.

  As he attempted to get to his feet, the assassin was already on top of him.

  Grabbing Isaiah by the lapels of his jacket, the killer lifted the Vatican Knight off his feet with the intent of casting him over the side. But Isaiah lashed out with his knee and drove its point against the large man’s ribs, driving air from his lungs. His grip never lessened, however, as he raised the Vatican Knight high over the railing. Isaiah looked down—a forty-foot drop, nothing but rows of seats with people scurrying for the exits. Then he turned against his foe and clapped both hands over the assassin’s ears, and hard, the action shattering both eardrums. As the assailant dropped Isaiah, the Vatican Knight was able to catch the railing on his way down and hung precariously with one hand. As his feet dangled wildly over the auditorium below, the assassin lifted his shirt to reveal a belt filled with throwing knives. Grabbing two from the girdle, he closed on Isaiah with a knife in each hand.