The Hand of Christ

by Joseph Nagle

  “Sir, systems diagnostics check out fine. I am running backup confirmation now; aw, shit!” spat PFC York.

  The Captain’s glare intensified at the sudden surge of exponential profanity. Now hovering over PFC York, he chose to let his presence speak for him rather than chastise the Private once more. He wanted to save that for later.

  PFC York really hoped backup confirmation would come back negative. Better to let the Systems Technology Support people come in and take down his terminal for repair than to have the alternative. An EDRE was the last thing he needed right now. She would soon be waiting for him and he really didn’t want to mess this one up.

  It was the alternative.

  “God damn it all to hell!” he said, even less quietly this time.

  The Captain now moved within millimeters from York’s ear, and in a baritone whisper that only York could hear said, “I am going to say this one last time York. Cure your STS now, or I will be happy do it for you. Let me hear just one more word inappropriate for this setting, or see one more act of insolence from you, and I swear to all that you find holy that I will take you out the front gates of this hill-side compound, walk you deep into the evergreens and aspens where no one can hear your womanly cries for help, and will proceed to pound the ever living snot out of you.”

  York snapped to attention in his chair as the Captain continued:

  “I will then, pick you up, and personally escort your sorry backside to sick call and tell the nurse that you fell down the side of the mountain!”

  The Captain moved closer and said, “And York, all of that silly-ass running you do up and down this mountain won’t spare one hair on your ass. Am I making myself clear to you, Private?”

  PFC York, vastly shaken by the threat, became even more rigid in his seat – he knew the Captain meant every word that he just said – and respectfully replied, “Yes, sir!”

  Captain Scott was a professional soldier, a lifer. On his shoulder were the arched tabs of Special Forces and Ranger. His barreled chest bore a particularly large array of colorful ribbons; many were adorned with multiple oak leaf clusters indicating that he had received more than one award of the same medal, including the Purple Heart.

  The one that stood out the most was the Silver Star; it was affixed with a “V” device, “V” for valor. They just don’t hand those out to anyone. Those that receive the Silver Star with “V” device typically do after they have died heroically, or, at a minimum, from a combined near death and heroic experience while in combat. The Captain was a serious and capable man.

  Before Captain Scott went to Officer Candidate School (OCS), he had been an enlisted man and a member of the 7th Special Forces Group out of Fort Bragg. He was a Green Beret, a highly decorated and ferocious warrior.

  PFC York remembered a story about CPT Scott: In October of 1995, before he had become an officer, Sergeant First Class (SFC) Scott had been on a morning run through the North Carolina woods of Fort Bragg. During his run, the humid morning air had been disturbed by violent cracks that rang out from a nearby wood line, on the other side of which was a football field. SFC Scott had recognized that sound as gunfire, distinct to a man with his training and experiences.

  He had run quietly and with a trained silence toward the noise. Soon, SFC Scott came across another soldier lying prone in the woods with a cache of weapons and multiple rounds of ammunition.

  The soldier had been indiscriminately firing bullets into the Battalion of soldiers that were lined up in formation on a nearby football field. All of the soldiers assigned to the 3rd Battalion of the 82nd Airborne Division had been readying themselves for a morning run. The morning run was to signify 3rd Battalion’s rotation into the 82nd Airborne’s Mission Cycle; the period of time where each soldier assigned to a specified Battalion of the Division of elite paratroopers must be within two-hours of the post in case of an alert.

  The paratroopers of the 82nd Airborne Division were able to parachute anywhere in the world and ready to do battle within eighteen hours. One third of the Division was on Mission Cycle at any given point in time.

  The “Mission Cycle Assumption Run,” as it was called, was a time to bring the units together; it was designed as a massive display of unit pride and esprit de corps.

  The shooter had waited patiently in the wood line near the field that overlooked the place where the Battalion of soldiers lined up in formation. He began raining bullets on the paratroopers once all of the men from the Battalion had taken their places on the field. He fired callously into the throngs of young soldiers; it had been a turkey shoot.

  It would later be learned that nineteen men had been shot by the crazed solider. A few were paralyzed by bullets that had severed their spinal chords. One soldier – a Captain who was posthumously promoted to Major – attempted a heroic charge on the shooter’s position, but perished from a shot to the head. More lives would certainly have been lost had it not been for that Captain’s selfless act.

  As the shooting continued, SFC Scott had stealthily made his way through the woods and found the man. He had fought the well-armed lunatic with nothing more than his bare hands, and had shattered his radius and ulna bones at the wrist with a massively debilitating blow to the shooter’s right temple.

  Later, at a press conference whilst holding up a newly plastered cast over his arm for the cameras to see, SFC Scott would state that “it wasn’t a fight for his own life, but a fight for the shooter’s.” SFC Scott had severely beaten the man and was rewarded well for it; he was a hero, and had saved uncountable lives.

  PFC York paid particular attention to his level of respect from that moment forward; CPT Scott was a man to be believed, and York’s severe case of STS was suddenly gone.

  “Sir,” York said, “backup diagnostics confirms the system is operating and functional.”

  Launching into the Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) for alarms, PFC York announced, “Sir, there is a Level-2 disturbance in the Mediterranean quadrant, localized over Damascus, Syria.”

  Captain Scott righted himself and turned to the rest of the crew. Everyone had diverted their attention to the obviously tense interchange between Scott and York; when the Captain stood up, all quickly snapped their focus back to their own terminals.

  Captain Scott launched into a well-rehearsed diatribe, “Attention on the floor. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a Level-2 disturbance. This is an EDRE. Satellite Control (SATCON): confirm activity, position NRO-1 and 2 satellites over the Mediterranean Quadrant; get me some eyes.”

  “Sir, NRO-1 confirmed, NRO-2 confirmed,” replied the SATCON officer.

  “Give me GPS coordinates on the activity ASAP. HUMINT, can you confirm on ground visual from Intel assets?”

  The Human Intelligence officer had none. Typically, in an EDRE, the software that creates the drill would simultaneously supply the HUMINT Officer with a pre-written output of onsite human intelligence.

  The output that the HUMINT Officer should already have in hand would simulate a report made by some US asset in or near the area of concern. The asset would have visual confirmation of the Level-2 activity. PFC York had never seen an EDRE without one, neither had CPT Scott.

  Additional warnings sounded at the terminals of PFC York and the soldier at the terminal immediately to his left; this only happens when the situation is not a drill. As a backup, the detection systems are designed to have redundant functionality should an alarm sound and a drill was not being conducted. Redundancy had just confirmed the reality of the attack.

  CPT Scott was suddenly aware that an actual Level-2 disturbance was happening in Damascus.

  There are five Levels of disturbances: Level-1 usually meant a single detonation somewhere had occurred. These were the most frequent, happening almost daily in the Fertile Crescent Quadrant of Iraq during the recent buildup of hostilities and did not warrant an alarm (unless the detonation was unusually large).

  Level-2 disturbances indicate multiple detonations and occurring le
ss than one minute apart. Something was happening in Damascus.

  “Sir, I confirm escalation to Level-3,” shouted PFC York.

  Spinning around, CPT Scott could feel his heart beginning to race, and was detecting a growing wetness under his arms. “Private York, say again. Repeat confirmation that we have a LEVEL-2 Disturbance.”

  “Negative, sir. I repeat, I detect and confirm a LEVEL-3 Disturbance.”

  Suddenly, the Captain could feel all eyes compressing in on him. The room, usually buzzing with the sound of activity and the whirr from the plethora of terminals, seemed unnervingly quiet. A Level-3 Disturbance indicates an unsuppressed conflict with multiple ongoing detonations of varying mass within five seconds of one another, and over a period greater than five minutes. This was a battle.

  Taking a breath in an effort to slow down his breathing, regain control, and to give him a moment to search his thoughts for the necessary protocol, CPT Scott issued his orders, “Satellite Control, position NRO-1 and NRO-2 Satellites into geosynchronous orbit above Damascus. Move NRO-3 into a one-hundred click triangulation position. Get it done now!”

  The National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) satellites were assets used to monitor activity around the world. The total number of NRO satellites launched atop Lockheed Martin’s Atlas V rocket was classified but rumored to be near thirty-six.

  The NRO satellites were fifth-generation spy satellites, and able to see three-dimensionally any visible object from space with such detail that the back of a dime lying in the street could be read on a clear day. They were an especially powerful resource for real time monitoring when triangulated.

  Moving NRO-3 into position would take approximately seven minutes, but was necessary to complete the triangulation of the other two satellites.

  NRO-3 was currently over India, and monitored the regions of Pakistan and the Kashmir.

  “HUMINT, get me some Intel on the activity. Confirm no US assets present in the area of the Level-3 Disturbance.”

  “Lieutenant Williams, get me the Commander on the line.”

  2nd Lieutenant Williams had only been serving at CORe for five weeks. A recent graduate from the University of Wyoming, she joined the college’s Army ROTC program as a way to help pay for college. This was her first assignment after completing the Basic Officer’s Course for Military Intelligence.

  Nervously, she dialed the Commander’s direct and private cell phone number.

  She had actually never spoken with nor met the Commander, and was justly timid in her attempt to reach him. The Commander’s reputation was widely known and was easily summed up in the derivation of his surname; a derivation that was oft used behind his back: “Colonel Eatshit.”

  Colonel Fleetship had commanded the CORe Center for the past five years; it had been a tour of duty long beyond the norm. He was painfully aware that he was put there to quietly ride out the rest of his career until retirement. He would never get his star; to that end he was well aware, and his personality and work ethic reflected his contempt.

  “What is it?” the clearly irritated Commander shouted into his cell phone.

  Taken by surprise at the terse manner he used when answering the phone, Lieutenant Williams stammered into the line, “Colonel Eatsh…, I mean, Colonel Fleetship…,” cringing at her near devastating mistake, she continued. “Colonel Fleetship, sir, I am reporting a Level-3 Disturbance, I say again, a LEVEL-3 Disturbance in the Mediterranean Quadrant and localized over Damascus. Please hold the line for the Duty Officer.”

  CPT Scott picked up the line to brief the Commander, “Colonel, there is a…”

  Unable to finish the sentence, the Commander interrupted, clearly annoyed, and barked at the Captain, “Run diagnostics, get backup confirmation and, Scott, don’t call me until you do!”

  “Excuse me, sir,” CPT Scott said with perhaps a bit of his own well-placed insolence, “diagnostics and backup are already complete. Redundant systems confirm the attack. Sir, this is real.”

  “Damn it, Scott! You had better be right. If I have to come down there only to find out that this is an EDRE, I will have one of your bars. Confirm it again; don’t call me until you do!”

  The Colonel harshly disconnected himself from the line. Captain Scott turned his attention back to his CORe team. “Give me some on ground intelligence, are those satellites in position?”

  “Sir, yes, sir – in position,” replied York.

  “Lieutenant Williams, call the Commander back. Confirm with the Colonel the Level-3 attack in Damascus.” CPT Scott didn’t need to run diagnostics to confirm the disturbance, “Get him here ASAP!”

  Swearing silently to herself, she hit redial on the phone.

  At the same time a secured laser printer – used only for classified data – hummed to life, the first sheet of paper coming through was labeled: TOP SECRET – EYES ONLY.

  Chapter Four

  La Stanza di Michelangelo

  The Vatican

  The previous three months for Leo had been particularly troubling. He had spent much of his time receiving and visiting the requisite heads of state and dignitaries that had arrived to congratulate his ascendancy to the Papal throne, but his busy schedule could not distract him from what he had found. He was as preoccupied as he had ever been.

  Much of his close staff, including a number of the visiting Cardinals, had noticed this change in his demeanor as well. Some gossiped privately amongst one another that Leo’s health appeared frail, that the job must already be getting the best of him. He hadn’t even published his first Encyclical. Some had even cruelly joked that the Conclave would soon be back in session.

  Whenever possible, Leo would steal away to la stanza di Michelangelo – Michelangelo’s room – to read and re-read the parchment. The room has been the unspoken but rumored location of each Pope’s secret archives: a repository of personal letters, unpublished writings, Papal documents, and diaries. The room sits on the upper floor of the left wing of St. Peter’s Basilica and is reached only by climbing an impressive, but overbearingly cold, winding marble staircase.

  To enter the room requires the use of an inordinately large and heavy key that was forged in the early 16th century. According to Vatican records, the blacksmith that made the key was paid the equivalent of one month’s salary, a tremendous and curious amount for such a simple device. The key could not be duplicated nor the lock picked. That overtly large and expensive key now hangs from a sash on the inside of the Pope’s garbs.

  Leo climbed the stairs once more, and was breathing a bit heavy as he reached the top of the staircase. A slight shiver ran through him, he didn’t know if it was from the cold and damp air, or from what had been weighing so heavily on his mind. Leo sighed weakly and then reached into his robes and pulled out the key. Unlocking the door, he stepped into Michelangelo’s room.

  It was amidst the frescoed walls and next to the fireplace that, perhaps, Leo had hoped he would find something contrary to what he had already concluded from the ancient document. He hoped for something that would cause him to change his mind.

  The letter that had fallen from the parchment had been written by “PPX,” which were the initials of Pope Pius X. The new Pope didn’t have to open the letter to recognize that those letters underneath the stamped Holy Seal of the Papal Tiara referred to the leader of the Roman Church, one of his predecessors, from 1903 to 1914. Leo had spent many years studying his Roman brethren and their Encyclicals; Pius X and his encyclical Ad Diem Illum was not unknown to Leo.

  The deceased Pontiff – PPX – had initially refused his nomination as Pope, not completely unheard of, but rare in modern times. He had been a man deeply troubled by the inordinate feeling that he was not worthy of such a position. What bothered Pius X even more was that his close friend, Cardinal Rampolla, the late Pope’s Secretary of State had already been elected in the Conclave as the true new and next Pope.

  Elected by the requisite number of Cardinals locked into the Sistine Chapel after the
Pope’s death, Cardinal Rampolla’s dramatic rise to the Papal throne was tremendously short lived. In a shocking twist, Cardinal Puzyna from Cracow vetoed Rampolla’s election in the name of the Franz Joseph the Emperor of Austria-Hungary.

  Further calls to ballot ultimately resulted in Pius’s election; after some days of deep introspection, Pius had decided to accept the papacy.

  Michelangelo’s darkened room was bathed only by the low light of the fire that crackled nearby and by the dim incandescent glow from the ancient brass chandelier that hung overhead. Leo walked inside and was surprised at the shaking in his hands that occurred every time he entered the room, but it wasn’t the room that made his hands shake. The beauty of where he sat, in the room of one of the world’s greatest artists, architects, and engineers – the first true Renaissance man – had no effect on him. No. Only the letter and parchment did.

  It was just a simple correspondence by Pius, a bit pithy really when considering the magnitude of the knowledge Pius had possessed now having passed to Leo. At first Leo brushed aside the validity of its contents; the Church is the never ending victim of conjecture, conspiracy, and outright fallacies, but the parchment was an Apocryphal of Paul!

  St. Paul had known the truth! Leo thought.

  Leo didn’t want to believe what he had read; it had to have been a clever forgery, but Leo soon learned that the Apocryphal was no forgery. There had been evidence. The Apocryphal of Paul and the letter from Pius both contained the stamp of the holy seal of each man, and validated their origins. These holy seals were not the only offerings of proof, Leo would find others.

  Every leader of the Church beginning with Peter and Paul had a holy seal designed specifically for him. The seal has a dual purpose: it is used as a signature by dipping it into ink and then onto paper, or could be used to press into hot wax in order to seal a document, just as had been done by Pius.

  Only one seal was created at the ascension of each holy leader, and at the death of each man in the line of leaders, the seal was removed and secured in the Vatican’s secret archives. In modern times the seal is supposedly removed from a deceased Pope and destroyed in order to avoid being misused. It was easy for Leo to find the golden case that contained the seals of each Church leader; they were in the Papal Archives and sat in a large velvet lined box. In it were the seals that belonged to Paul and every previous Pope. The Church does not destroy them as they claim.