The Hand of Christ

by Joseph Nagle

  Michael returned his attention to the phone, and tapped the command on the screen that would take him to his most recent calls.

  “I hope this works.” Michael mentally crossed his fingers as the phone automatically dialed back the number of the last call he had received. Moments went by spilling nothing but silence into his ear.

  Then, there was a ring.

  CPL York was sitting at his terminal and monitored the now active Ghadr-110X nuclear missiles that had recently sprung to life. Only, he didn’t know they were nuclear; the White House had told no one of this yet. MSGT Bryan sat next to him and held a hot cup of steaming coffee in his massive hands. York couldn’t help but notice that the cup nearly disappeared into the Green Beret’s giant-like mitts. Both men were anxious but bored as they approached the eleventh straight hour of duty. Earlier, the missiles had risen and Iranian soldiers had suddenly become frantic. Since then, nothing else had happened.

  A red light on the terminal of MSGT Bryan began to blink causing him to spill almost half of the hot java onto his lap. “What the fuck!” he shouted.

  CPL York wasn’t the only one to hear MSGT Bryan’s sudden and unannounced loud burst of profanity. CPT Scott looked up from his desk at his former teammate and called out, “Master Sergeant Bryan, is everything okay?”

  “No, sir, everything is not okay! I am receiving a call on line Delta!”

  This caused both CPT Scott and CPL York to rise from their seats.

  “Come again, Bryan? What did you say?”

  “Sir, you heard me correctly. There is an incoming call on line Delta!”

  CPT Scott was making his way to the dumbfounded soldier and declared, “That’s impossible!”

  MSGT Bryan called out, “Should I answer it, sir?”

  There was no Standard Operating Procedure for this. Line Delta was supposed to be a one-way line of communication, “It must be a malfunction, a phantom ring. Just let it go. Most likely it will stop.”

  It didn’t stop.

  Michael raced down the stairs. Answer! Soon, he was at the bottom and in a long narrow tunnel. The ceiling hung low and Michael had to bend forward to avoid hitting his head. The air was noticeably cooler and damp. The tunnel was underground. Ahead of him was a sharp light that illuminated a short staircase that headed up. He bounded up the stairs to the door which leads to Via di Porta Angelica and to the other side of the Vatican wall.

  The door was wide open.

  A number of tourists and locals had stopped and gathered around the door. Michael bolted through it startling the curious. Quickly, he put his gun back into his jacket and didn’t say a word to them, but closed the door and then held out the small bronze key in front of the lock. I hope this thing fits! Michael shoved the key into the lock surprised that it actually did fit. He turned the key, locked the door, and then smiled to all of those that had gathered. A flash of light suddenly snapped in front of him; a laughing teenage tourist with a camera in hand ran away.

  Michael looked to the ground, to his left he could see nothing, but to his right he could see a few droplets of blood that headed across the street and to the east. He ran into the street and in the direction of the blood, but was met by the blaring horn of a car and screeching tires. Instinctively, Michael jumped and slid across the hood of an Audi whose driver was screaming incoherent Italian obscenities at him. In his ear the line kept ringing. Come on! Answer!

  “Sir, line Delta is still ringing!”

  “I know, Master Sergeant, I can hear it!”

  “Well? Should I answer it?”

  CPT Scott thought for a moment, and then said, “Answer it.”

  What they would hear next shocked every member of the CORe team. MSGT Bryan put a wireless headset onto his right ear and then, with a meaty finger, depressed a key on his terminal and answered, “This is the CORe.”

  Oh my God! It worked! Michael was breathing hard, “Hello, NORAD? This is Dr. Michael Sterling – the Professor.”

  Oh fuck, thought CPT Scott. MSGT Bryan was unable to speak.

  “Hello! Is anyone there! Talk to me, this is an emergency!”

  CPT Scott grabbed the wireless earpiece from the large head of the Master Sergeant. “Who the hell is this? How did you tap into this line?”

  “Listen to me! This is Dr. Michael Sterling, codenamed Professor. You helped extract me from Syria yesterday during the attack at Umayyad, the attack that killed the US Ambassador!”

  The Captain interrupted the CIA Officer, “Listen, I don’t know who you are or how you got this number, but…”

  “Shut up! You listen to me for Christ’s sake! I know how this must seem to you, but I am the guy you helped get the fuck out of Damascus. Do you remember the Hezbollah soldier that blew the fucking hole in the wall? You had me run through it! There were two Blackhawks with a twelve-man Delta force team! You put me on a Carrier in the Mediterranean, the God damned President and DCI were on the line!”

  CPL York jumped out of his seat, “It’s him, sir, that’s the guy we helped!”

  York put on his own earpiece and tapped into the incoming communication. “Dr. Sterling, it’s me, CPL York. I am the person that helped get you through the city.”

  Michael recognized the young man’s voice and was relieved, “Listen to me, York. I am in Rome. I need your help again! Do you still have my SIM signal from yesterday?”

  York was back in his seat and punching his keyboard faster than he had ever typed. Within a moment, a small green blip appeared on his screen; he zoomed in on it. The dot was blinking and moving near the edge of the Vatican in Rome. York pointed to it showing his Captain.

  “Sir, verify your location.”

  “I am in Rome. I am running away from the Vatican,” Michael saw a street sign; I am on Via dei Corridori heading east!”

  The blinking green dot was in the same place and moving the same way. CPL York covered the mouthpiece and mouthed, “It’s him!” to CPT Scott. Scott nodded to the young newly promoted non-commissioned officer that he understood. Moving closer to the Master Sergeant, CPT Scott told him to move NRO’s 2 and 3 over Rome. He had already begun the electronic procedure before his Captain had made the request.

  York spoke to Michael, “Sir, what’s going on? What do you need?”

  “An attempt on the Pope’s life just took place. I am chasing the man that is responsible. He has codes that control the guidance system for weapons that are in Iran’s arsenal. York, I want you to listen closely, those weapons are nuclear tipped! This man intends to fire these weapons at the United States! I need you to find him! We have to stop this!”

  The entire staff at the CORe center stopped everything that they were doing. They had all worked for the past eleven hours to monitor the activity along Highway A81 in western Iran, and on the screen were images of the dozen long and fat-bodied ICBM’s atop their individual transporters. From their tailpipes, a constant plume of chemical smoke erupted. Until now, not one single person at the CORe center had any idea they were looking at forty-eight nuclear warheads that had the power to obliterate eighty percent of the United States population.

  York broke the silence, “Sir, what would you have me do?”

  Michael asked, “By now, I assume that you have moved some satellites overhead?”

  York looked to his Captain for permission to acknowledge this; he nodded his head in the affirmative, “Yes, sir, we have.”

  “Find me. When you do, scan ahead in the direction that I am moving. Look for a man in a black cassock, he is on foot. He can’t be more than two minutes in front of me. Most likely he will be moving erratically. He is injured. Do your satellites have thermal reading capabilities?”

  “Yes, sir, I already have your position on screen.”

  “Good. Listen, the man’s right hand will show up hot on your signature, he’s hurt and bleeding heavily.”

  “But, sir, there will be thousands of people, how am I supposed to find him?”

  Michael knew it was a lon
g shot but it was all that he had. His tone was even, almost paternal, “York, listen closely to me; I am asking you to find a needle in the haystack. But son, you have to do the impossible. The lives of millions hang in the balance unless we find this man. He can’t be more than two minutes in front of me. Even if he were moving fast, that won’t be more than a quarter mile ahead. Take a breath, trust yourself, and get to work!”

  CPL York did as he was told, and took in and let out a breath as Michael had instructed him to do; pushing a number of buttons on his control panel, York zoomed in on Michael. When he saw the CIA Officer close-up, he didn’t need to run a retina scan, he instantly recognized the man. He had an idea; he would backtrack from ahead of him. Immediately he scanned down the road a bit more than a quarter mile and started his search. He hoped it would work.

  CPT Scott turned to MSGT Bryan and ordered, “Activate line Omega, get the President on the phone!”

  Chapter Seventy

  The Oval Office

  The White House

  The red phone took up very little space on the President’s large desk. Atop “The Resolute,” and next to White Papers on economic reform and Congressional responsibility, it rang.

  The light brown desk was built from the wood of a frigate that once had sailed in the Royal Navy under the christening of the HMS Resolute: its namesake. The Queen had given the desk to President Hayes in 1880, and it has since stood quiet as a symbol of the strong relationship between Her Majesty and the United States.

  Had it not been for the phone’s Victorian shade of red, appropriate for the simple accoutrement, it would have scantly warranted a second glance when it rang. The sound of the buzzing phone startled all of the men in the room. General Diedrick looked at the President with concern. Today had brought enough surprises, neither wanted another.

  The President stood and walked to his desk. Picking up the phone he spoke.

  At the CORe Center in NORAD, everyone was silent as the voice of the President of the United States, for the second time in as many days, echoed overhead in an omnipresent manner.

  The four most powerful words a man can say piped over the loudspeakers, “This is the President.”

  “Sir, this is CPT Scott from the CORe center,” Scott paused.

  “Yes, CPT Scott, what is it?” The President’s response had no traceable amount of patience or respect.

  “Sir, the Professor is on the line, he is calling from Rome. I think you might want to hear what he has to say.”

  What the hell? “Dr. Sterling? Rome?” The president covered the mouthpiece of his phone and quietly told General Diedrick to put the call over the Oval Office’s intercom system.

  CPT Scott swallowed hard, “Yes, sir, he’s in Rome,” instantly wondering if he had made a mistake.

  Michael could hear the conversation and gruffly interrupted, “Mr. President,” he was breathing hard, “I am in Rome and am chasing a man that is responsible for the attack on the Pope!”

  Surprised to hear his voice, the President questioned, “Dr. Sterling, the Vatican has publicly stated that the Pope had suffered a heart attack. What are you talking about?”

  “Mr. President, I am sorry if this comes off as rude, but fuck the God damn press! You and I both know that the story was a cover up! There was an assassination attempt, I was there. It was the same man that assassinated the Ayatollah! The man behind both of the assassinations is part of a group that conspired on both!”

  “Dr. Sterling, from what I understand, you may have had a hand in the Ayatollah’s murder.”

  Michael nearly stopped in his tracks.

  Some of the staff at the CORe center gasped when they heard this. Lt. Williams suddenly wished that she had taken more student loans to pay for college instead of joining ROTC.

  “Sir, you know that I didn’t have anything to do with that! The Ayatollah’s killer is dead, and I am chasing the man that helped him!”

  “Dr. Sterling, I am in the Oval Office with senior members of my staff. Right now we are faced with something more important that I must deal with. I am sorry about the Pope, but this is a waste of my time, there are more urgent matters that concern me than the Pope’s attempted assassination. It would be in your best interest if you turned yourself in, and…”

  Michael interrupted the most powerful man on the planet, something that the President was not used to. “Right now Iran has lined up twelve Ghadr’s on a highway outside of Khorramshahr! The weapons are nuclear tipped, Mr. President, aren’t they? You know about them don’t you, you know about Operation Merlin?”

  The President caught the stare of General Diedrick; The President’s eyes silently asked the question, how does he know about Operation Merlin? The General shrugged.

  “Michael, how is it possible that you know this?”

  Michael was moving fast down Via dei Corridori, his breathing was shallow and hard. He ignored the President’s question, “Sir, the man that I am chasing is part of a group that planned both assassinations; killing the Pope was supposed to look like retaliation from Iran for the Ayatollah’s murder. The man I am chasing has the codes to the guidance system for those nukes! He intends to use them so that we have no choice but to respond with ours!”

  In the middle of the interchange, CPL York was not wavered in his focus to find the Monsignor. He worked with the two NRO satellites instead of the normal three, but that only made him more determined. On his feet once more, his intensity was strong enough that his fellow soldiers maintained a safe distance from him as they watched. Like a pitcher in the ninth inning on the verge of a no-hitter, no one spoke to him, encouraged him, or even dared breath near him.

  He was on his own.

  The large screens in the CORe center had three-dimensional images of the streets of Rome. Two quite large screens were being used, one for each satellite in his control. Encased in an amber glow all of the tourists and city-dwellers showed up as glowing thermal images. The images on the screens moved fast, and not from their own volition, but from the Corporal’s. He was controlling the field of view like a soldier possessed. Nothing could distract him. Left, right, back and forth; the buildings and people showed up as a blur as he dissected one image to the next, and faster than any other member of CORe could.

  Where is that motherfucker!

  The Corporal was determined; sweat formed heavily on his brow. Then, he stopped. On the screen was a hot outline that caught his attention. He knew it was him the first moment he saw the glow around his body. It was different than all of the others.

  The large screen in front of the CORe center and to the left of the second screen was frozen; on it was the thermal outline of a man moving fast but erratic. His path wasn’t straight, he was staggering. The thermal image of the priest ran into another thermal image and shoved the second one out of the way.

  CPL York zoomed in and the glowing body was now larger than life. The right hand of the man was much darker than the rest and appeared deep red next to the amber outline of his body.

  The President was going to ask his question again but was interrupted once more; twice in one day, a precedent was being set.

  “I’ve got him! Professor, I found him!”

  “Where! Where is he?” Michael shouted.

  CPL York panned out slightly. Using a designed feature for human satellite tracking he “tagged” both Michael and the Monsignor. The street names automatically appeared on the screen. “Straight ahead of you, less than half a kilometer, is a large building. It rises above everything else. Can you see it?” CPL York asked.

  Michael looked ahead and shouted back, “I see it!”

  Castel Sant’ Angelo was almost as dominant in the nearby skyline as St. Peter’s Dome. It wasn’t difficult to find.

  The President bit his tongue; he stood and listened. General Diedrick was now standing next to the President with a note in his hand. The President took the note and read it. He looked at the General realizing the significance of what was written:
<
br />   “If true, without those codes, Iran has nothing!”

  The President spoke, “Dr. Sterling, listen carefully to me. The Iranian missiles have moved upright on their launchers and are in the firing position. If those weapons are fired, I will have no choice but to retaliate with the full arsenal of the United States’ nuclear inventory. Right now, the 6th and 7th fleets are positioned within striking distance of Iran. If what you are saying is true, I do not need to tell you how critical it is that you do not let that man use those codes! Dr. Sterling, catch that son of a bitch!”

  The little blips on the screen were the tags; wherever they moved the tag was permanently affixed. Michael’s tag suddenly moved much faster.

  York shouted out, “He’s on the other side of the building and heading toward a bridge. He is crossing the river!” Michael was catching up.

  Michael had heard his President’s command but couldn’t speak. His heart was racing faster and his breathing coming harder. He was in a near full-sprint and needed every ounce of available air.

  It didn’t take him long to find the bridge and cross the river. Before him was the long open air Piazza Novana; the site once used for ancient Roman games and street-markets. There were hundreds of people scattered about the stone covered Piazza.

  In his ear the Corporal commanded, “Keep moving south, he’s at the far end and on the east side of the Piazza. When you get to the end of it, there is a street called Pasquino. He just went left there!”

  The words that rang in his ear were eerily familiar; at least this time there wouldn’t be random soldiers lining the rooftops with hand-held rocket launchers. At Via di Pasquino, Michael went left as instructed.

  “Careful! He stopped moving!”

  The moment that York shouted out his words of caution Michael saw the Monsignor; the priest was leaning against a railing. His chest heaved in and out of rhythm, and his disfigured hand was clenched firmly against his stomach. The purple sash that he used to wrap the injury was now a deep shade of maroon, changing colors from the flow of blood that it soaked up. Michael ducked behind the corner of a building. Geoffrey stood, cast a glance behind him, and continued to move.