The Last Sicarius

by Van R. Mayhall Jr.

  “Where are the jars?” the Karik suddenly asked.

  “Only the Sicarii know that,” Cloe responded quickly.

  “I think you know,” said her captor.

  “Only the Sicarii know,” she repeated.

  “She does not know,” interjected Miguel. “Leave her alone.”

  The Karik turned his attention to Miguel and said, “You are here only for the ride. If you meddle in this again, I will have your throat cut.”

  “Karik, do you know who I am?” he asked.

  The Karik, diverted for the moment, studied Miguel carefully. “Certainly,” he finally said. “You are the dwnwuq, the heir. You are the Kolektor’s son, his only surviving relative.”

  “Yes … and you tried to kill me with a bomb blast but succeeded in killing my entire family instead,” said Miguel softly. “Now you have stolen my father’s wealth and my inheritance.”

  As Cloe watched and listened closely to this match of words, she wondered about the “wealth and inheritance” remark. Michael had previously denied any interest in such things.

  “Knowing that will do you no good. When I learn what I seek, you will both die,” said the Karik. “I don’t care who you are. Dead will be dead.”

  “You know, Karik, the funny thing is I had not seen my father for decades before his death. He was merely an abstraction to me. His wealth is tainted, and I have said that I want nothing of it,” said Miguel. “None of this was necessary.”

  “I have his wealth. I have everything. You will have nothing when I’m finished,” retorted the Karik angrily.

  “Yes, but you have much innocent blood on your hands for which you must answer,” said Miguel. “And answer you will, I promise you.”

  CHAPTER 74

  Four hours after their meeting, J.E. had his entire crew in the air to the northeast of Tunis. They had gathered their meager gear, and it was stowed aboard the lead jet, Miguel’s big Citation. They had scored a second plane, a smaller Learjet, and Father Anton was flying it a thousand feet below, on their six.

  J.E. had been able to buy two satellite phones with encryption capabilities at an electronics shop on the way to the airport. They would now have confidential communications both with each other and with their various intelligence sources. Although none of their sources had been able to give them anything on the Karik, they did have a destination: Rome.

  “Everything we know suggests the Karik headed eastward,” said the monsignor. “It could be due east, southeast, or northeast.”

  “Or it could be a head fake,” said J.E.

  The monsignor looked puzzled, but the young camerlengo interpreted. “A feint, Albert.”

  “Ah, perhaps, but remember, the Kolektor was rumored to have a safe house in the region where he grew up on the Turkish-Armenian border,” said the monsignor.

  So J.E. and the rest thought east was the correct direction. Stopping in Rome en route would not take too much time or put them too far afield. In Rome, they could resupply and, importantly, secure the weapons this mission would surely require.

  “Monsignor, it feels funny going back to Rome for weapons, among other things,” said J.E. “The Vatican is a holy institution invested in peace. We’re seeking death-dealing guns and ammo. Isn’t that inconsistent?”

  “It might appear so at first, J.E., but the guns will only be used in self-defense,” said the monsignor. “Even the pope’s personal guard must be armed in this day and age. There are simply too many people out there who have no scruples about violence. Sometimes, evil has to be fought on evil’s terms.”

  “Amazing,” said J.E. “I still can’t get used to the tactical capability of the Vatican.”

  “The Vatican is a sovereign state as well as the seat of Catholicism,” replied the camerlengo. “It must adapt to the modern world as best it can.”

  The call light on the satellite phone flashed. J.E. picked it up and answered. “Monsignor, it’s for you—the ops center.”

  The monsignor put his ear to the phone and listened intently. He then hit the speaker button and turned up the volume to maximum so that the conversation could just be heard over the engines.

  “Albert, that’s what we know now,” said the voice. “We went back and studied the tapes of satellite observations for the time shortly after Hakeldama. We know one of the Kolektor’s men got away from Jerusalem in the Kolektor’s jet.”

  “That could be our man, Father Emilio,” said the monsignor.

  “The plane landed at a relatively small municipal airport in Turkey near the Turkish-Armenian border. I’ll send the coordinates via cell phone,” said the priest on the other end of the phone.

  “Anything else?” asked the monsignor.

  “No, that is it,” said Father Emilio. “But I would add that the same plane has made that trip several times before, according to the tapes.”

  “Very good, Father,” replied the monsignor. “Do you have anything on the Karik’s lair?”

  “Nothing on the Karik at all, but we believe the Kolektor had a place in the mountains on the border. We don’t have a precise location, but it must be relatively close to this airport,” said the priest.

  “Thank you, Father. Please let me know if you find anything else,” said the monsignor as he rang off.

  J.E. looked around at the rest and said, “I think we now have our second destination.”

  ***

  A couple of hours later, Sky had landed the plane at Rome’s Ciampino Airport, the closest to the Vatican. The Swiss Guard was there waiting with supplies and medics. Very shortly thereafter, Father Anton landed with his Swiss soldiers. A quick examination indicated that all the men were battle-ready although cut and bruised. Bandages were changed and antibiotics administered. As the jets were being refueled, supplies and weapons were transferred and stowed.

  While all this was ongoing, J.E., Father Anton, Sky, and the monsignor conferred with Father Emilio, who had driven out to the airport with the Swiss.

  “Our intel sources at the small airport in Turkey where we think the Karik may have gone report that someone important keeps a helicopter on alert at the airport. The man is rarely seen, but when he comes, the copter is ready and flies him off into the nearby mountains.”

  “Excellent, Father Emilio,” said the monsignor. “That is our destination. Can you arrange for a helicopter to be available for our use?”

  “I can, but given how these things work, you would be well advised to rent a car and drive into the mountains,” the old monk responded. “There can’t be too many places up there that would suit the Karik, and it’s likely the Karik has spies at the airport who would report an extraordinary event like the rental of a helicopter.”

  “Quite right, Father,” said the monsignor, considering the situation. “We will be slower by car, but we may preserve the element of surprise.”

  The jets were idling as the last of the supplies were loaded. The monsignor boarded the lead plane and turned to say thanks and good-bye to Father Emilio. He reached out and took the thin hand of the ops center leader.

  “Albert,” said the old warrior monk, clutching his hand with a fierce grip, “go get our friends.”

  CHAPTER 75

  The plane had landed in the gathering evening, and they had been transferred to a waiting helicopter. After the gear was loaded, the helicopter had flown off toward the looming mountains, now almost purple in the dusk.

  Not all the Karik’s men had been able to go in the helicopter. Cloe had seen some loading into Range Rovers as they took off. Doubtless, those men were following by road.

  As Cloe studied the Karik, who had largely kept to himself since the dustup with Michael, she reviewed her feelings about the fact that Michael was the son of the monster who had shot and almost killed her. His blood flowed in Michael’s veins. Still, Michael had hardly known his father and seemed to completely repudiate him and his great wealth. Yet what did she really know about Michael?

  The helicopter landed, a
nd they were walked quickly into a large chalet-style house. Immediately, she and Michael were taken to a basement holding area. A steel-barred cell had been installed there. The Karik himself went off in another direction, into what looked to Cloe like living quarters.

  The steel door clanked shut, the Karik’s men retreated, and she and Michael were left in total darkness. It was such a heavy blackness that Cloe felt the physical weight of it. She moved toward where she had last seen Michael and whispered his name.

  Though he had to be relatively near, the reply came back as if from a great distance. “I’m here, Cloe.”

  “Michael, what are we going to do?” asked Cloe.

  “Well, we are in a lot of trouble,” replied Michael. “We are in the lion’s den. He wants what he thinks you know.”

  “Yes, he thinks I know where the Sicarii have taken the jars,” said Cloe.

  “Do you?”

  Cloe was silent for several moments. “Only the Sicarii know,” she finally responded. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because if they think you care about what happens to me, they will use me to get to you,” he responded. “I’d like to know that I’m part of a good cause.”

  “You know your cause, and it’s different from mine,” Cloe said. “I’m so sorry about your family. The man, this Karik, is a monster.”

  “At some point he will come for the information he wants. He will kill us both to get it,” stated Michael flatly.

  “Michael, I’m very scared, but I don’t know anything,” said Cloe. “What can I do?”

  “Maybe there is some clue, something you know, without knowing its importance, that could help us,” suggested Michael.

  Now something was beginning to nibble at Cloe. Was Michael trying to get information out of her? Or was he just trying to find something to feed to the Karik to satisfy him for a while? She hated to think it, but was it possible that Michael’s insistence about not caring about the jars and his father’s wealth was an act? Was it possible he and the Karik were somehow in this together? No, she could not abide that. Every instinct told her no. Still …

  “Michael, in your early years did you ever know the man who calls himself the Karik?” she probed.

  Silence.

  “Go to sleep, Cloe. You will need your rest,” Michael finally whispered.

  CHAPTER 76

  The monsignor gazed out the small, hard port that passed for a window on the jet. They had left Rome and then Italy behind and were now headed east. J.E. was dozing opposite him. Most of the rest of the men were preparing in some way for battle, cleaning weapons, sharpening knives, or trying to get some last rest before … before what? Before they found the Karik, liberated his captives, and pulled the Kolektor’s network out by its roots. Never again, he thought.

  ***

  The monsignor started awake. He must have nodded off.

  He looked at the radium dial on his watch. About two hours had elapsed since they departed Rome. They should be in the vicinity of the target. He looked out the window but could discern nothing in the darkness. Still the plane seemed to be descending.

  J.E.’s eyes popped open, and he too looked around, assessing the situation. “Monsignor, where are we?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll ask Sky,” the monsignor responded, standing and moving toward the cockpit.

  Before he could enter the cockpit, Tomás, who was seated a row or two ahead of them, grabbed him and said, “I think we approach the place my boss always talked about growing up before he was sent to Rio.”

  “Miguel? Miguel talked of this place?” asked the monsignor.

  “Yes, he was only a child then, and he did not know where it was, but this must be it. He knew it was in the mountains in Turkey,” responded Tomás. “He spoke of being with his father and the good times they had.”

  “I see,” said the monsignor.

  “But of course, he was only a small child,” repeated Tomás.

  The monsignor moved on into the cockpit, but he was back in a moment, plopping down across from J.E. “We are a few hundred miles from the area where the Karik’s hideout may be located,” said the monsignor. “We are about an hour out. I have asked Sky to take us down when we are close and fly along the mountains so we can see if we can spot the lights of the Karik’s lair.”

  “All good, Albert,” said J.E.

  “Funny thing, J.E.,” said the monsignor. “Tomás says Miguel remembers his childhood with the Kolektor here in Turkey.”

  “Yes?” replied J.E.

  “Fondly,” said the monsignor.

  CHAPTER 77

  The incredible brilliance of the lights flashed against Cloe’s sleeping eyes. For a few moments she did not know where she was. Rough hands grabbed her and dragged her from the cell into the open area of the basement. Her hands were bound behind her back with wire. She was slapped into a hard wooden chair and surrounded by the Karik’s thugs.

  “What? What do you want?” she cried. “Where is Michael?”

  For a while there was no answer. After a bit, the Karik and his servant, Noosh, joined the other hoodlums in the room.

  “Well, Dr. Lejeune, now is the time for truth,” said the Karik. “Where are the jars? I have no time for lies or delay. You put the Kolektor off with your endless stories, but I will not be fooled.”

  “Karik, I have told you—only the Sicarii know where they have been taken,” she responded.

  Noosh reached forward and backhanded Cloe across the face, almost knocking her from the chair. Cloe recoiled and tasted blood from her split lip. She stared straight ahead and said nothing. Generations of stubborn Lejeune genes locked into place, reinforcing her resolve. This murderer would get nothing from her.

  The Karik looked at her expression, turned, and considered the situation. After a moment, he nodded at one of his henchmen, who flipped a nearby switch that lit a heretofore darkened corner of the basement.

  Cloe gasped in shock at what she saw. A man, naked, had been bound with wire in what almost looked like a fetal position. He was hanging from a cable fixed to an overhead beam and attached to the wire binding him. He was slowly turning into the light. The metal bands of the wire wrapped him so tightly that Cloe wondered how the poor soul could breathe.

  “Where are the jars?” asked the Karik patiently.

  Cloe was silent, studying the bound man across the room. As he revolved, she could see his shoulder and then his face. Cloe screamed a terrible scream from the bottom of her soul as she recognized Michael. She felt hot and cold. Her heart rattled in her chest. She thought she might pass out.

  “You worthless bastard!” she screeched at the Karik. “He knows nothing and has done nothing.”

  “Where are the jars?”

  “Only the Sicarii know,” Cloe said mechanically.

  The Karik nodded at his retainer.

  Whoosh. Cloe heard the sound of a fire lighting. She looked more carefully and saw that Michael had been suspended over a fire pit of some kind, this one lined with gas jets. The blue-orange flames began to lick upward. Michael started to struggle against the wire bindings, which only caused him to be more tightly constrained.

  The room was becoming warmer. Cloe could now smell the pungent odor of burning hair. There was something else, but she could not force herself to think about Michael being burned alive. She heard Michael scream as the flames reached out to him.

  “It is an old Armenian torture that we usually reserve for the Turks, but regardless, it is remarkably effective,” said the Karik coolly. “Where are the jars?”

  Cloe glanced at Michael and saw his skin beginning to turn a bright red, as if he had been in the sun way too long. The reek of burning hair and now flesh was pervasive. Michael screamed again.

  “Tell them nothing, Cloe,” cried Michael, hoarsely.

  Cloe could hear the intense pain in his voice. How could she ever have suspected that Michael and the Karik were working together? Cloe was devastated that she had eve
r questioned Michael. But what could she do? There was nothing left to do but try to stay at the table. After the Karik finished with Michael, doubtless, the same fate awaited her. What would that gain?

  “Karik,” she said urgently, “I do not know where the jars have been taken, but I know a location, a certain place. Whether they are there or not, I can’t say for sure. If you will take Michael down immediately, I will take you there.”

  “I do not believe you,” said the Karik. “This is more of your trickery.”

  “No, the Sicarii were in the mountains when we got out of the cave. I spent some time in their camp. They talked of this place when they thought I was asleep,” she responded. “The jars may be there, or it may be something else altogether. But it’s all I have.”

  The Karik studied her very closely. She thought she might wilt under his gaze, but she summoned inner strength and stared resolutely back at him.

  “Turn off the fire,” he said. Immediately, his thugs cut the gas jets under Michael.

  Cloe wondered how much damage had been done. Michael just hung there; he seemed to be unconscious.

  “Come then,” said the Karik.

  “No, I want Michael down and given medical treatment,” Cloe responded. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”

  “That was not part of our bargain, Dr. Lejeune,” said the Karik. “We go. He stays. He is my insurance. If you have lied, his death will be most terrible.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill him anyway?” Cloe demanded.

  “How do I know you aren’t just taking me on some wild-goose chase, hoping your friends will find you?” parried the Karik.

  There it is, Cloe thought. She was making another deadly pact with a homicidal maniac. First the Kolektor and now this Karik. They had to trust each other to a point and look for opportunity.