Hostaged Vatican

by Gar Wilson

  As John Trent began to rise from the ground, he saw a sudden movement from the corner of an eye. Three terrorists were approaching from the tracks. Two appeared to be Iranian killers armed with North Korean assault rifles. The third was a Basque, easily identified by his sheepskin vest, shepherd's staff and the red boina or beret on his head. The Basque terrorist was also armed with an M-11 Ingram, the .380 caliber "little brother" of the M-10.

  Trent swung his Remington shotgun at the trio and pulled the trigger. The weapon did not respond. For a split second, Trent feared the weapon had jammed until he realized the safety catch was still on. Pressing the latch, Trent triggered the shotgun again.

  The Remington roared. Trent had not unfolded the stock, so the recoil was harsh against his unsupported wrist. A burst of Number Four buckshot slammed into one of the Iranians and lifted the terrorist off his feet. It hurled him five feet backward to land in a pulverized heap on the ground. The terrorists had not known the ninja had been among the shadows. Now aware of the threat, the surviving Iranian and the Basque killer swung their firearms toward the muzzle flash of the Remington.

  Trent fired the shotgun again. Buckshot hammered through the Iranian's chest and sent his butchered body hurtling backward. A few pellets ripped into the biceps of the Basque gunman's right arm. He groaned as the impact spun him around. The Ingram machine pistol fell from his grasp as blood streamed down the man's sleeve.

  John Trent stepped closer. He hesitated, unwilling to gun down a wounded and unarmed opponent. Suddenly the Basque whirled and lashed out with his shepherd's staff. The hardwood shaft struck Trent's shotgun and ripped the Remington from his grasp.

  The Basque jabbed the butt of his fighting stick into Trent's midsection. The American ninja doubled up with a groan as the terrorist raised his staff and prepared to deliver a skull-cracking final blow.

  The great crook of the staff descended swiftly. Trent's reflexes, developed by a lifetime of martial arts training, responded immediately. He dived to the ground, landed in a shoulder roll and drew his ninja-do as he jumped to his feet. The Basque cursed in his native language and swung the staff at Trent's sword in an effort to break the blade.

  Trent adroitly swung his sword out of the path of the whirling stick. He stepped forward and thrust the ninja-do in a smooth, quick stroke. The slanted point of the blade sliced into the hollow of the terrorist's throat. The man's mouth fell open, and crimson vomit spewed onto his shirt. Trent yanked the sword free and snapped his arm to flick the blood from the blade. The Basque melted to the ground and died.

  "Looks like you got your point across, John," Calvin James commented as he approached Trent.

  "I think I'll pretend I didn't hear that," the ninja replied as he slid his ninja-do into its scabbard.

  "Hey, Calvin," Manning called to James. "Be careful about launching grenades. This is the Vatican, remember."

  "Shit," James sighed. "It was a train station, not St. Peter's Basilica. How many great works of art were in there?"

  "There sure aren't any now," the Canadian said with a shrug. "But there are probably going to be plenty of terrorists heading in this direction."

  "How long you been telling fortunes, man?" James inquired as he noticed two sets of headlights coming their way from the Ethiopian Seminary.

  "Looks like we're going to have company," David McCarter announced as he and Manning joined the others.

  "We noticed," Katzenelenbogen assured him as he inserted a fresh magazine in the well of his Uzi. "We're not in the best position to take on a large force of opponents. We've got to move to better cover. Besides, a major battle will endanger the lives of the hostages."

  "I have a feeling that might have already happened," Manning admitted. "I sure hope your theory about this raid is accurate, Yakov."

  "No strategy is perfect," Katz confessed. "I just hope Bianco or one of the negotiators has managed to communicate with the terrorist leaders."

  "Well," Rafael Encizo began, "I think we should be more concerned about personal survival right now."

  "Our top priority is to move to a new position and avoid direct confrontation for now," Katz declared. "Take out anybody who gets too close, but no offensives just yet."

  "You guys go on," Manning urged, taking the backpack containing the demolitions equipment from his shoulders. "I'm going to slow them down."

  "I'll help," Encizo announced. "I need the practice."

  "Well, I don't intend to be left out," McCarter said with a wiry grin.

  "Come on, David," Katz ordered. "There'll be plenty of action to go around."

  The Briton reluctantly agreed. James and Trent jogged toward the Mosaic School Building. McCarter followed. Katz turned to Manning and Encizo. He did not like leaving them, but he realized the tactic was sound. A good commander does not submit his men to unnecessary risk, but he must also accept the fact that he cannot constantly protect them.

  "We'll cover you when you withdraw," Katz promised. "Good luck."

  Katz followed the other three men as Manning and Encizo prepared to face the approaching group of terrorists. The Canadian explosives expert removed a small brick-shaped object from his pack. He shoved it into a jacket pocket and rummaged inside the bag for another item.

  "They're getting warm, Gary," Encizo warned as the headlights came closer. Several figures walked beside the vehicles. The Cuban did not take a head count, but he was certain there were at least a dozen armed opponents moving toward them.

  "Just a minute," Manning replied as he knelt by the corpse of the Basque terrorist. He unwrapped the brown waxed paper from the bricklike object.

  "We don't have a minute," the Cuban muttered, "but I'll see if I can't buy us a few extra seconds."

  Encizo suddenly broke into a run and dashed across to the smoldering remnants of the railroad station. Manning opened his mouth, nearly calling for him to come back. He held his tongue. Encizo knew what he was doing, so Manning turned his attention back to his own task.

  He placed the block of C-4 plastic explosives between the neck and shoulder of the slain Basque. The Canadian demo pro tore off most of the block of Composition Four, an explosive that resembled white taffy but was ten times more powerful than TNT. If Manning used too much, he would blast the hell out of everything within two blocks of the explosion — including himself and his Cuban friend.

  Manning hastily inserted a pencil detonator and special blasting cap, but he did not set the timing mechanism. He placed a concave plastic plank over the C-4. The Phoenix Force warrior ripped the heavy paper wrapping to reveal the needles that jutted from the plank. These were the points of 232 .177 caliber darts, the type used in many air rifles. Manning wiped the back of his hand across his brow. His sweat was cold and clammy.

  Encizo had ducked inside the wrecked remains of the train station. He stepped around rubble, but nearly tripped over a corpse. The Cuban moved to the wall facing the headlights of the approaching enemy forces. He peered through a window that no longer had any glass panes.

  The terrorists came to a halt less than a hundred yards from the station. Encizo realized that his original estimate of numbers had been way off. There were at least twenty of the barbarians. Most were on foot, armed with assault rifles or subguns. The lead vehicle was a Jeep, probably the confiscated property of the Swiss Guards or the Vatican Security Police. The car behind it was a Volkswagen that had probably belonged to a Vatican employee or perhaps a priest. Encizo hoped the owner had it insured.

  Apparently the terrorists had stopped to observe the damage to the station. An Iranian zealot in the Jeep spoke into a two-way radio, no doubt reporting their discovery. Another Islamic Jihad follower stood in the back of the Jeep, leaning against an American-made M-60 light machine gun mounted on a tripod. The Iranians still used the U.S. weaponry left over from the reign of the Shah.

  America had supported Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi since the Truman administration. The U.S. had wanted to be on good terms with an OPEC leader and
a country located on the Persian Gulf. But the Shah's popularity had decreased in his own country. He had established a one-party dictatorship, and his SAVAK secret police had tortured and murdered hundreds of Iranians. The Shah had commanded the third largest army in the world, and he had been confident that no internal forces could overthrow him.

  The Shah had been wrong.

  The revolution had been successful, and the Islamic Jihad had gained power. Because the United States had been an ally of the Shah, America had become a target of Iranian rage. The leaders of the Jihad had felt that the hostage situation at the American embassy in Teheran had only proven that the United States was weak as well as corrupt. Americans had been the Jihad's most popular target ever since.

  None of this concerned Rafael Encizo as he hid within the shattered hull of the train station. The terrorists outside were the enemy. Why they had joined the Islamic Jihad or had participated in the takeover of the Vatican hardly mattered to Encizo. The terrorists were involved in a savage act against innocent people, and nothing justified that. They were also a threat to the life of Rafael Encizo and the other members of Phoenix Force.

  He followed a fundamental tactic — take out the opponent who presents the greatest threat. Encizo aimed his H&K blaster and squeezed the trigger. Three 9 mm rounds coughed from the silencer-equipped muzzle. The parabellum trio tore into the chest of the Iranian posted by the M-60. He uttered a brief cry and tumbled backward out of the vehicle.

  Encizo immediately fired a quick volley at the windshield of the Jeep. Glass exploded. So did the faces of the driver and the radioman next to him as 115-grain lead projectiles chopped their faces into pulp and smashed open the backs of their skulls.

  The terrorists were caught off guard. They were startled and uncertain as to where the shots were coming from until someone noticed the subdued muzzle flash of Encizo's silenced weapon. Shouts erupted, and several automatic weapons opened fire. Bullets chewed at the windowsill and hissed through the gap to plow into the walls within the station.

  But Encizo had already moved from that position. He rushed to an exit and plucked an M-26 grenade from his belt. The Cuban pulled the pin and hurled the M-26 around the corner of the building, throwing it in the general direction of the terrorists. The grenade exploded with a vengeful roar.

  Encizo dashed from the station. He did not know if the grenade had claimed any lives. He did not really care as long as the explosion convinced them to keep their heads down long enough for him to reach Manning.

  "About time," the Canadian remarked as he turned the timing dial of the detonator to five seconds.

  The Cuban kept running toward the Mosaic School. Manning followed. He pointed his FAL at the terrorists as he jogged backward, firing a quick salvo to discourage them from giving chase immediately. The pair retreated to the cover of the school. Only a few poorly aimed enemy shots were fired at them.

  When it became clear that their opponents were retreating, the terrorists gave chase. Battle cries sang out from the group as they charged after Manning and Encizo. The headlights of the Volkswagen cast a beam among the running figures that pursued the commandos.

  Then the C-4 charge exploded.

  The force of the blast killed four terrorists instantly. The darts were like deadly pieces of shrapnel. The tiny projectiles pelted the terrorists in a sharp metal hailstorm. Bodies were impaled by dozens of needlelike projectiles. Skin was punctured, eyeballs pierced and veins and arteries severed. Wounded and dead terrorists fell to the ground. Those fortunate enough to receive minor injuries hastily retreated from the scene.

  "I guess we slowed them down," Encizo remarked, gasping as he tried to catch his breath.

  "Yeah," Manning agreed. "A lot of them have been slowed down forever."

  9

  "I warned you about what would happen if you attacked us," Mohammed Radmeni snarled into the telephone receiver. "Do you think we won't kill these Christian infidels and their damned priests? Their blood shall be on your hands! And the blood of hundreds more when we create an earthquake to crush you like the Judgment of Allah..."

  "We didn't send them, Mr. Radmeni," the voice of Captain Bianco spoke from the earpiece of the phone. Since Radmeni understood English, and not Italian, the captain had been given the job of contacting the terrorist leader. "We called you before a single shot had been fired to warn you that someone had managed to break through to the Vatican. They're not Italian soldiers or police. They're not acting on order from our government or, as far as I know, any other government involved at this time."

  "You expect me to believe this?" the Iranian spat into the phone. "How did they get through your soldiers?"

  "The same way they got past your men on the wall," Bianco answered. "They sabotaged one of our tanks. Surely you saw the flames. We were busy putting out the blaze. This had to receive top priority because the explosive shells and ammunition in the tank made the fire very dangerous. Apparently your men were distracted as well. That's when the invaders scaled the wall."

  "How do you know?" Radmeni demanded.

  "Some soldiers saw them climb over the top," the captain answered. "They're very clever and very quick. And there's probably only six or seven of them. Eight at the most. No more than that could have gotten over the wall in such a short time."

  "Eight men?" the Iranian was stunned. "You claim only eight men have dared to attack us? Who are they? CIA assassins sent by the Americans?"

  "I think you flatter the CIA with such a suspicion," Bianco remarked dryly.

  "You infidel Italians cooperate with the Americans," Radmeni snapped. "You've done it before when our fedyreen seized that rich man's cruise ship."

  "If the men who challenge you are CIA, the American embassy has been lying to us," Bianco stated. "Would you like to talk to their ambassador?"

  "Americans are all liars," Radmeni replied. "But the murdering pigs could be Israelis or even British. It doesn't matter. You let them in, and now you will regret it."

  "Mohammed," Ali Hussan Kamal said sharply, concerned by the Iranian's sharp temper. "Don't act rashly. The infidels might be telling the truth."

  "Don't be a fool," Radmeni hissed. "Prepare the earthquake device. We shall all go to the arms of Allah together..."

  "And die before we complete our mission?" Kamal asked, trying to keep the edge of desperation from his voice. "Think, Mohammed. Would the Italians or the Americans or any other Western power send only eight men to defy us? Let's not sacrifice everything because a few lunatics have managed to slip over the wall."

  "A handful of men?" Radmeni scoffed. "Mossavei radioed a report to us. He said all the sentries and troops posted at the railroad station appeared to have been eliminated. And now it seems Mossavei and most of his patrol have also been killed. Does that sound like the work of only eight men?"

  "Eight professionals," Kamal stated. "Possibly mercenaries sent in by some right-wing fanatic. Members of a paramilitary outfit, probably with genuine combat experience."

  "That's absurd," Radmeni replied.

  "But it is possible," Kamal insisted.

  "Mr. Radmeni?" Bianco's voice spoke from the earpiece. "I don't understand the language you and your men are speaking..."

  "We're sealing your doom!" Radmeni snarled angrily. "The lives of the hostages, the lives of you and your family, the eight butchers you sent to kill us and your precious Vatican are all going to be destroyed!"

  "Because of eight lunatics?" Bianco demanded. "We're trying to negotiate the terms you gave us. We're trying to raise the ransom money and convince the Israelis to release their political prisoners. Believe me, we're as upset about those invaders as you are."

  "Really?" Radmeni laughed. "They aren't killing Italians, are they?"

  "So find the bastards and kill them," Bianco invited. "Call us back when you succeed, so we can all sigh with relief together."

  Silence followed the captain's remark. Bianco's fist tightened around the telephone receiver; his knuckles
were white from strain. He gazed up into the worried face of Gerald Gardener, who hovered over the desk. Seated in an armchair across from Bianco was Cardinal Francisco Galleo, a representative of the Curia.

  "All right," Radmeni's voice declared at last. "We'll take care of these invaders. But I warn you, if any more commandos breach the walls, or any of your soldiers even appear to be preparing for aggressive action, then we shall retaliate without mercy."

  "Agreed," Bianco said, nodding his head as if the terrorist could see the gesture.

  "One other thing," the Iranian added. "We need a gesture of good faith to assure us you're telling the truth. Withdraw those tanks from the area. They make me nervous."

  "I'm only a captain, Mr. Radmeni," Bianco explained. "I don't have the authority to promise that will be done."

  "You'd better be convincing when you talk to your superiors, Captain," Radmeni warned. "Because I'm going to wait twenty minutes for those tanks to get out of my sight. If they are still there after that, you can expect to feel the earth open under your feet."

  "I'll do my best," Bianco promised.

  "I hope your best is good enough," the Iranian replied. He hung up without further comment.

  "Maniac," Bianco muttered as he placed the phone receiver in its cradle.

  "What did they want that you couldn't promise?" Gardener asked.

  "They want the tanks withdrawn," Bianco explained. "I think that can be arranged. We don't want to charge into the Vatican with armored vehicles anyway. If a full-scale attack proves to be the only choice, we can use a bazooka and a mortar to do just about everything we could do with the tanks anyway."

  "The damage to the Vatican would be too costly. Captain Bianco," Cardinal Galleo said in horror. "We can't allow this to happen..."

  "I appreciate the value of the Vatican's art and history, Cardinal," the captain assured him. "But it must take second place to protecting human lives."