by Rick Jones
It was because the life of the Gemini twins was natural to them, so they knew nothing else. In other words, they learned how to live with the harmony of madness.
After Father Ferrano removed the book from the premise with the Vatican Knights in tow, the authorities soon arrived only to find a tattooed man lying dead upon the floor of his apartment ...
...And a broken neon cross hanging askew upon the wall.
Chapter Forty-Seven
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Inside the Papal Chamber
The Apostolic Palace
Vatican City
Later that Afternoon
“The book has been sequestered inside of a vault that is deemed impassable,” stated the pontiff. “I can assure you that it will not be stolen again.”
Kimball sat across from John Paul III on the opposite side of the papal desk. After Father Ferrano returned the book to the Vatican’s Secret Archives, Kimball wondered if the existence of such a tome was prudent to have around at all. “It’s been stolen three times already,” he said to the pontiff. “It’s still a treasure, regardless. But as long as the book exists, thousands of lives will continue to be in jeopardy that don’t have to be.”
“What are you asking, Kimball? That the church destroy the tome?”
“Exactly. We don’t know if there are others out there like the Gemini twins. Probably not. But that book contains the messianic genealogy line of people who have no knowledge as to whose bloodline they share. For no reason at all their lives will always be in jeopardy through no fault of their own. It’s not fair to them.
It’s not fair to Robert Bowman. And it’s certainly not fair to those who have lost their lives at the hands of the Gemini brothers.”
“It’s sad, no doubt, Kimball,” stated the pontiff, who appeared impartial in tone and appearance. “But the book recounts the history of Christ before and after his death, with the details written by the hand of Saint Peter. And you want me to destroy it?”
“Your Holiness, it’s obvious that the book cannot contain everyone within the bloodline no matter how much the ecclesiastic society and its scribe tries to maintain the recordings. There are those who have escaped through the cracks and have gone undocumented, no matter how diluted the bloodline may be. But those whose names are written upon those pages will always be targets to fanatics, should the book once again disappear into the wrong hands.”
“Your concern, Kimball, is noted. But the book remains under the jurisdiction of the church, the Vatican, and will be highly guarded from here on in. There’s no need to worry. Besides, it’s the duty of the church to protect the welfare of its citizenry. And is there no greater citizenry than those who come from the bloodline of Christ?”
“This time we dodged a bullet with a few good people dying when they didn’t have to. I’m only concerned about the next time. And believe me, Your Holiness, there will be a next time when the world is fighting their battles based on religious sentiment.”
“I’m sorry you disagree with my opinion, Kimball. But the book is safe. In fact, it rests inside an impregnable vault deep within the Secret Archives. And new protocols and guidelines have been set. New names to be scribed within the tome will be done so under the watchful eyes of an entire security team. The book is safe.”
After a long moment of silence between them, Kimball got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Your Holiness.”
“The door is always open for you, Kimball. You’re always welcome to my chamber.”
Bowing his head, the Vatican Knight left the room thinking that the Brimstone Diaries was a fitting name for the tome. Those whose names were written within the pages or their offspring, would always be targeted, should the book once again find its way into improper hands.
History was always due to repeat itself whether it be decades or centuries—but repeat itself it will.
If he had thought about it, he would have taken a match to the tome and gladly watch the pages burn.
Chapter Forty-Eight
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Warehouse District
Outskirts of Rome
Following Day. 2:13 a.m.
Fariq arrived at the warehouse several hours later than expected and blamed it on heavy traffic. In the back of the vehicle was what was referred to as “Allah’s Hammer.” The sphere, it would be said, a precious token from Allah to tear down the castle and kingdom of false prophets.
As the case was removed from the SUV and placed on the table, Master Kang was careful in handling the item. Standing close by to watch the entire operation unfold were Abdallah Kattan and Father Ferrano. Since Master Kang created the internal core to seat the piece perfectly with the wiring and triggering mechanisms, he fitted the sphere into its concave seat and secured it. After two hours of reexamining, securing, checking and finalizing the manufacture of the WMD, Master Kang stepped back with a pompous grin that showcased how pleased he was with the outcome.
“It’s done,” he said. “It’s complete.”
Abdallah Kattan stepped up to the crucible to look at the roadwork of wires and devices inside, as well as the burnish sphere of Allah’s Hammer. “Nice,” he whispered. “I’m very pleased at what you’ve done, Master Kang. Even more so, I’m sure that Allah is truly pleased.”
Father Ferrano looked inside the crucible at all the configurations of metal, computer boards and wires. It was incredible how something so small had the power to provide unbelievable damage, all due to the utilization of the atom. “So small,” he commented. “And this will do the job as promised? To take out Vatican City and half of Rome.”
“Do you doubt my expertise?” Kang sounded a bit heated, if not insulted. “I’ve been doing this job for years working on the North Korean team—slaving and developing and excelling at the nuclear division to the point where we finally rattled the saber of the United States, putting them in fear of our arsenal.”
Ferrano held his hand up in submission. “I meant no insult to you, Master Kang. I only sought confirmation, that’s all.”
“How much confirmation do you need outside of my word?”
Father Ferrano simply walked away after that.
“Now,” Master Kang redirected his attention back to Kattan. “The weapon has been assembled as promised. Two days additional work is additional cost, as negotiated.”
“You’ve been paid enough, Master Kang. And paid well, I might add. There’ll be no additional funds sent to your account since the money needs to go toward the cause.”
“You promised.”
“I promised that you would walk away from here alive and safe, so that you can enjoy your money.”
“You promised.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“Seems to have left my memory. I have no recollection of additional funds for additional time. Only that you would be paid well upon completion of the device, which you have been.”
“You lie.” The moment Master Kang took a few steps toward Kattan, Fariq stepped forward and pointed the mouth of his sidearm to the North Korean’s forehead, which prompted the Asian to stop dead in his tracks.
“Are you a fool, Master Kang?” Kattan asked unemotionally. “Take one more step and my man here will kill you right where you stand.” After looking at the crucible, he once again directed his attention to Master Kang. “You’ve done a good job and have been paid well for it. So, it is what it is. Be happy with what you have. And perhaps you should learn how to manage your temper, Master Kang, if not your penchant to leap before you consider the dangers that lie before you.” He pointed to Fariq. “Consider yourself lucky, Master Kang, since I did not order my man to kill you. Next time you shall see no such reprieve. Consider this moment one of appreciation for what you have done, yes?”
The North Korean nodded.
“Very good, Master Kang. Now tell me, have you enabled the weapon to go off twenty-four hours from now?”
He shook his head ‘no.’
When Kattan snapped his fingers, Fariq moved forward and pressed the point of his pistol against Master Kang’s forehead.
“You will do so now, Master Kang. And you will do it properly. Understand?”
Another nod from the North Korean.
“Then do so,” ordered Kattan.
With the point of the firearm now pressing against the Asian’s temple and dimpling the skin, Master Kang went to the crucible, reached inside, and flipped a toggle switch with the pad of his thumb, then stepped away.
Inside the shell a digital display with red LED numbers began to count down.
...23:59:57...
...23:59:56...
...23:59:55...
“Is that it?” asked Kattan. “It’s active.”
The North Korean nodded, then softly answered, “It is.”
Kattan then motioned to Fariq to lower his weapon, which he did, while stepping back and keeping his eyes on Master Kang.
“Then your job here, Master Kang, is done. My men will see you to the airport.
Do have a good flight.”
While Fariq ushered Master Kang roughly toward the exit of the warehouse with pushes and shoves, Abdallah Kattan informed his people to place the lid on the crucible and lock it in place. Once done, everyone stood back to admire the quality of the piece, which was a remarkable assembly of polished metals that shined against the overhead light.
“Death has never been made to look so beautiful,” Abdallah remarked faintly.
Then he turned to Father Ferrano beside him. “Tomorrow night,” he told him, “we move on the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore to exchange the real item for the fake. Though there will be security, I assume?”
“Of course,” said Father Ferrano. “Right now, we’re running totally in the shadows with no obstacles in sight. There’ll be no Swiss Guard to contend with since they’re the Vatican’s private army that never leaves the city. And the Vatican Knights move on the word of Vatican Intelligence, which has no knowledge of this operation whatsoever.”
“Excellent,” said Kattan. “We’ll vacate the premise immediately and sanitize the warehouse to eliminate any trace evidence. Then we’ll galvanize our forces tomorrow evening and breach the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. By this time tomorrow, Vatican City and the domed basilica which sits upon its land will be nothing but smoldering dust and ash. Allah will be victorious.” And then in a shout for those around him to repeat, he yelled, “Allahu Akbar!”
Then in unison as expected, everyone yelled, “Allahu Akbar!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
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Comm Center of Vatican Intelligence
Vatican City
9:23 a.m.
After Kimball left the pontiff’s chamber regarding the continued existence of the Brimstone Diaries by claiming it to be more of a detriment than a treasure, the Vatican Knight had also been nagged by thoughts ever since his confrontation with Martin Gemini. And because these ideas continued to plague him throughout the day and evening, he had spent the early morning hours inside the Comm Center of Vatican Intelligence to pour through the databanks that were tied to the CIA, NSA and the Pentagon.
After hours of investigation and setting forth inquiries to certain principals within the intel community, Kimball fell back into his seat and stared at the monitor before him. There were still a lot of open-ended questions. But most of the answers he received confirmed his suspicions.
By morning’s end, with investigations still ongoing by the principals of the CIA, NSA and the Pentagon Brass who wanted their own answers regarding Kimball’s inquiries, the Vatican Knight was completely satisfied with what he discovered, though only 80% of the questions had been met with practical answers. Then he launched an exploratory search of the Vatican’s Secret Archives. After discovering what he needed to know, Kimball, after logging off and getting to his feet, left the Comm Center of Vatican Intelligence.
Chapter Fifty
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Rome
Early Evening
The sun had set. And the sky was a canopy filled with glittering pinpricks of light when Father Ferrano exited the quiet streets of Rome and entered his apartment.
After removing his Roman Catholic collar and tossing it on the nightstand, he then undid the top button of his shirt. Going to the kitchen, the priest grabbed a tomato from a basket on the island, retracted a butcher’s knife from the block, and started to cut the tomato into slices. When he was half way through, Father Ferrano suddenly stopped what he was doing and stared at the tomato for a long moment, as if to appraise his carving. After a long moment elapsed with the man remaining as idle as a statue, he finally said, “Are you going to remain in the shadows? Or do you eventually plan to make yourself known?” Then Father Ferrano went back to slicing the tomato.
From the shadows of the living room, Kimball Hayden moved into the light of the kitchen. His features remained impersonal, but his eyes blazed with raw savagery.
“To be honest,” Father Ferrano said while maintaining his focus on the tomato,
“I’m surprised it took you this long.”
“Then you know why I’m here?”
“I realized my error a few hours after the incident,” said the priest. He stopped cutting and white-knuckled the knife.
“So, you want to tell me who you are?” Kimball asked him.
The priest shrugged. “I’m Father Ferrano.”
“That’s what your biographical record states.” When Kimball took a step into the kitchen, Father Ferrano readjusted his grip on the knife’s handle, which Kimball noted.
“My father was a U.N. Inspector who actually named me Joseph Ferrano, that much is true. But my mother, who is Syrian, gave me the name of Faisal Naba after my father’s untimely death, since it was not wise for a Syrian to bear an American name at the time. Especially when you live in Syria when the walls came crashing in around you from the continuous sorties by Coalition forces, which we all know was captained by American chieftains.”
“I knew you lied to me and to the church the moment we retrieved the book from Martin Gemini,” said Kimball.
Father Ferrano concurred by nodding. The knife was still in his hands. “It all came down to the moment of the shooting, didn’t it?”
Kimball took another cautious step into the kitchen before holding his ground.
“An elite soldier as an Army Ranger, especially a sniper as you have claimed to be, would know the anatomy and nomenclature of any weapon he handles. You didn’t know enough to thumb the safety when Gemini attacked you. And your shots were well off target. A sniper would have hit center mass with a tight grouping of shots.
Yours went wide at close range.”
Though Father Ferrano continued to stare at the tomato that bled juices on the counter, a smile surfaced on one side of his face. “And now you’re here because you have some of the answers, but not all, is that it?”
“Pretty much.” When Kimball took another step forward, Father Ferrano took a step backward with the knife tightly gripped in his right hand. “I put inquiries into certain agencies that have your biographical file downloaded into their databases,” he told the priest. “It appears Joseph Ferrano does exist with having been a sniper with the Army Rangers—the same story you related to me. But it also appears that the file may have been injected into the databases via hacking to create a man who never was. Right now, a face-to-face investigation has commenced with people in units you professed to have served with. But I get the feeling that no one has ever heard of the name Joseph Ferrano, especially not a sniper. I think it’s only a matter of time, Naba. I’m also going to assume that you created and injected the same files into the Vatican Intelligence database as well, which included a date of a false ordainment.”
The one-sided smile broadened. “So now what?”
“So now you’re going to tell me why. And you’re going to tell me everything.”
Father Ferrano held the knife up in display. “I don’t think so.”
Kimball rounded the island that divided them. “Oh, I think you will.”
Father Ferrano bent his knees and ground his feet against the floor, which Kimball mirrored as they prepared themselves for engagement.
When Kimball moved to his left, Father Ferrano moved to his right. The blade of the knife shined against the overhead embankment of lights as if to highlight its sharpness. And then Father Ferrano launched himself forward swinging the knife in perfectly formed arcs and swings, the man no novice to double-edged weaponry.
He drove Kimball back, the Vatican Knight taking all the moves in with keen observation. And as Father Ferrano came around with another horizontal slash, Kimball grabbed his wrist, twisted it in such a way that Ferrano barked a cry, and then he threw three lightning-fast jabs to the priest’s face.
...whump ...
...whump...
...whump...
A blood gout erupted from Ferrano’s nose, a rope of thick red liquid that drenched the front of his shirt as he stumbled back with the knife still in his possession. After the priest quickly regained himself, he came forward once again as the aggressor, the man swinging and gouging the air in perfect display. The blade whispered as it sliced back and forth before Kimball with flawless choreography to his moves. And once again Kimball was driven back to the kitchen counter. Father Ferrano closed in swinging, the blade now moving in a blur. Kimball tried to make his move but couldn’t. The knife was moving too quickly. If only he had his own blades to counter.