by Rene Fomby
Constantine stared up at the ceiling of the Hagia Sophia, now safely back in Christian hands after five centuries of suffering under the indignities of Satan’s Islam. The previous evening’s assault had rolled out perfectly, as well it should, because he had plotted out every single detail himself.
His plan for the conquest of the West and the destruction of God’s greatest enemies was now fully in motion, and nothing could stop him now. His head throbbed, and he thought once again about the Nanteos Cup, the Holy Grail, now locked away in his new bedroom in the Topkapı Palace just a few hundred feet to the north. Time enough for that later. The cameramen were finally ready. The show must now go on.
104
USS Carl Vinson
Sanders rubbed his eyes and reached for another steaming mug of coffee. They had barely made it to bed last night when the alarm rang out once again. Istanbul had been attacked by a massive armed invasion force, and so far the world was completely in the dark about who was at the center of it. Most of the media were suggesting the Russians, or the Chinese, or even the Macedonians, who had been displaying a marked increase in aggression toward their eastern neighbors in recent years. But Sanders—and the entire command team assembled aboard this ship—knew better. It was William Tulley. The man who now called himself Emperor Constantine.
But it still didn’t make much sense. Sure, he had managed to pull off an amazing temporary victory over the sleeping and thoroughly unprepared Turks. But what was that going to buy him in the long run? Turkey was already planning a quick strike to take back the airport, and was now demanding that NATO send forces to retake the city as well. The very same NATO that had been threatening in the days just prior to Tulley’s invasion to toss Turkey out of the alliance entirely.
But Turkey didn’t need NATO to seize control of the Old City of Istanbul. Even with all of the forces Tulley had managed to land inside the city walls—done brilliantly, Sanders had to admit—Turkey’s air force could neutralize Tulley’s ground forces in less than a day and then the army could simply stroll into the city for mop-up duty.
He was just starting to think about setting down the coffee and trying to steal a few more short winks back in his bunk, when another shrieking alarm went off across the ship.
105
New Rome
Stock footage of the exterior of the Hagia Sophia played to his broadcast audience as Constantine settled calmly onto his throne, a simple gold diadem resting lightly on his brow. Finally, he saw his cue and, smiling, he rose slowly to his full towering height, the camera angled slightly upward to reinforce the viewers’ sense of his physical presence and power. Red and gold robes hung easily from his massive shoulders, parted ever so slightly to reveal both a cross and a chi rho symbol hanging from a slender gold chain around his neck.
Music had been playing during the introduction, a monumental piece by Bach, but now it faded into the background as he began to speak.
“I am Constantine, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire and Protector of the Most Holy Catholic and Orthodox Church.” He waved a hand at the church standing around him. “And I am speaking to you today from the very heart of that Church. Hagia Sophia, the Church of Holy Wisdom, built by the Roman Emperor Justinian in 537 A.D., then desecrated by the unwashed masses of Islam a thousand years later until it was finally liberated by my own Christian forces early this morning. Liberated and returned to its rightful place in Christian hands once more, as our pope and patriarch have commanded. I am speaking to you today from the city of New Rome, previously and wrongfully renamed Istanbul by its Muslim conquerors. New Rome, the city that my predecessor, Constantine the First, built to serve as the capital city of the Roman Empire, and the most holy seat of God’s own Church.”
He paused to stare ominously down at the camera. “I am coming today to share with you both a welcome, and a warning. First—a welcome to all of my fellow Christians on this glorious day, a day in which the gates of Heaven have finally been opened up to fill all of our hearts with His glorious mercy. The long-promised Kingdom of Heaven is finally upon us, and His will shall now see the end of all of the suffering of God’s creations here on earth. Soon, I tell you, there will be no more sickness, no famine, no war, no evil of any kind. For as our pope and patriarch have foretold, Satan’s days upon this earth are now numbered, and his followers, Islam and all of the other heretics and evil doers, his followers shall perish before the assembled fury and might of God’s own armies. So has it been written, so shall it be done.”
He closed his eyes as unseen voices echoed his words. “So has it been written, so shall it be done.”
Constantine opened his eyes, and a single tear rolled slowly down his left cheek. “There are those listening and watching who have turned away from God, who have lost their faith in the miracle of Jesus. I say to you, it is time to make your amends with your most Holy Father, with His Son and with the Holy Ghost, before that time runs out. Before the four horsemen appear before you to signal that the End of Times is upon us all. Because, I say to you, the Messiah has indeed returned to us, just as was foretold so long ago by Saint John of Patmos. A baby born of a virgin mother, Mary, a simple woman who has never known the corrupting influence of the flesh. I give you the Messiah, baby Sophia, a child born of the Holy Spirit, sent to us by God Himself to lead God’s Kingdom here on earth for all eternity!”
The camera swung to Constantine’s left, revealing a dark-haired woman dressed in plain white silken robes, holding a naked baby girl in her arms. She looked up for a moment and smiled sweetly toward the camera, then returned to her ministrations of the child. Adjusting the baby slightly in her arms, she pulled at the robes on her right side, exposing one perfectly-formed and swollen breast, which she offered to the now-eager baby, who started suckling away at it hungrily. The camera returned to Constantine.
He scowled slightly, holding up his left palm. “And, now, the warning. I know that, even as I speak, the secular leaders of this world are plotting against me. Plotting to return New Rome to the heathen Islamists, to the very same Turks who so blasphemed God by their unthinkable assault on St. Peter’s Basilica, on the conclave of Catholic cardinals assembled to choose their next bishop.”
Constantine’s scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “But, ultimately, as you all know, Satan failed. A pope was chosen, after all. A Miracle pope, pope Peter II. And now, pope Peter has joined with his counterpart Eusebius, the patriarch of Constantinople, to demand that all of the Christian nations of this world take up arms against the Muslim hordes, to finally rid this world of a cancerous scourge, a stain that has plagued us all for one and a half millennia. To take up arms in a new Crusade against the true enemies of God. To this end, our pope and patriarch have set aside a childish feud within the Church, a schism that has itself lasted almost one thousand years. If they can somehow find the peace in God to do this, then surely the leaders of our own nations can find the peace to serve God instead of themselves. To lead with Christian hearts, instead of bowing to the atheists and apologists who even now excuse the monstrous acts of our enemies, who even now instead bend over backward to portray our own society as corrupt and unworthy of salvation.”
Constantine had moved slightly during this last soliloquy, and now stood with his left hand resting on the arm of his gold and jewel encrusted throne, composed largely of the prized treasures of the Ricciardelli family that he had stolen from their bank vault a little over a year earlier. “As cherished as this city is, one city is not an empire. So today, I call upon the citizens of the lands that once made up the old empire to join me in this new Roman Empire. Spain, Catalan, France, Southern Italy, Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, Bosnia, Slovenia, Montenegro, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova—reclaim your birthright! Break free from your oppressors, break free from Germany, Belgium, the United States, countries whose only goal is to starve you to death under the Satanic guise of austerity! Join me in recreating the greatest single superpower this world has ever known! The Holy Ro
man Empire!”
He paused to let his words soak in, knowing that the groundwork he had set in place with the drug-induced riots just days before would almost certainly be all the catalyst he needed for southern Europe to fall in line. One last message, however, still had to be delivered to the world outside. One last warning. “But I know, I understand, that this change will not happen overnight. Even as God Himself willed that his capital city of New Rome would be returned to him in just one evening, in the very face of Satan’s forces, He knows that we must all now choose sides in the coming war. Choose to remain under the cruel thumb of our oppressors, or choose a new path, a new future, a home for all of us true Christian believers in the coming Kingdom of God.”
He held up a finger, shaking it at the camera. “But know this. Ye fallen, treacherous leaders of the West, hear this. Even now you are plotting to retake New Rome. Even now you are plotting to further castrate our great faith, our Christianity, teaching our children that Jesus is a myth, that science triumphs over faith. But you will not win.” He reached down and plucked a small black device from the side of the throne, holding it up before the camera. “Know this, fallen leaders, whores of Babylon. Christianity was forged in the blood of its martyrs. A history of unselfish service to God with one’s own life in the cusp that extends all the way back to the Saints Peter and Paul themselves. No greater sacrifice can one make than to lay down his very life for his God, for his faith. So, know this.”
He dropped the device into a pocket of his robes. “Even now, the governments of the United States, France and Great Britain are examining several small samples of nuclear material, compliments of our Empire. When they analyze these samples, they will find a curious mixture of a wide range of lethal radioactive materials, including polonium. As I said, these are mere samples, scraped from a much larger amount of material that is now affixed to high-yield explosives and mounted at the very center of New Rome. Any attempt whatsoever to retake New Rome, its airport, or any of the areas around the city currently controlled by my Legion—any attempt—will force me to defend our faith by pressing that button and detonating the bomb, which will have the effect of killing everyone within at least a fifty-mile radius of the city. Most will die slowly, agonizingly, but they will all die, nonetheless. And I will press that button gladly, knowing that for every one Christian life sacrificed to this war, to this device, a million Muslim lives will have been snuffed out, as well. That is a sacrifice I can live with. It is a sacrifice my followers, my army, have already agreed to face. And they face it gladly.”
Constantine lowered himself onto his throne. “We have much work ahead of us. New Rome must be purged of its denizens, and all of the other countries who will be welcomed into the Empire must be consulted. The rift between the Latin Church and the Byzantine Church must be healed. But I tell you, my friends and future countrymen, today is a glorious day, a day that will echo forever in our hearts and minds and souls. For it is the day Jesus promised so long ago, when a new Messiah would be born to lead us into paradise here on earth, to a life everlasting. And with that, I say to you, good day, good night, and may God bless you all.”
106
USS Carl Vinson
“What the hell was that?” The Carl Vinson’s captain had been rendered almost speechless by Tulley’s presentation.
“Shhh.” Sanders held up a hand, asking for quiet as he talked to someone on his cell phone. “You’re sure? Well, all right, then, Yeah, I understand.” He hung up the phone and slapped it down on the table in front of him. “Goddammit to hell!”
“What is it?” Gavin asked. “What did they say?”
“They said the samples tested just as the bastard said. Massively lethal radioactives, including polonium. Great Britain confirms, too. Still waiting to hear from France.”
“But this is crazy!” Sam spat out. “It’s a suicide pact!”
Sanders shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, well, it’s no different than what the Muslims pull off all the time, sending extremists wearing bombs hidden underneath their clothing to kill their otherwise innocent enemies. In fact, Tulley was right, the whole martyr thing comes from Christianity itself, back long before the original Constantine legalized the religion. And if you think about it, Tulley’s plan is no different than the whole Jim Jones tragedy out in Guyana. So just more of the same senseless crap we’ve all become so used to seeing, every day and every night on the news. But, regardless of the inhumanity of it all, I’ll have to admit it’s a brilliant move. One none of us had ever expected.”
“So you think it’s going to work?” Gavin asked. “He’s really going to get away with the whole thing?”
“Unless we can think of a way to sneak in there and steal the bomb away from him before he can detonate it, I think he’s got us all over the barrel, so to speak.”
Sam couldn’t believe it. Every time she turned around, her former father-in-law always seemed to have the upper hand on them. Maybe he was somehow blessed by God. Albeit a particularly loathsome God. “But what if he’s bluffing? What if he really doesn’t have a bomb?”
“You really want to take the chance on that?” Sanders asked. “Roll the dice and see whether twenty to thirty million people die a slow and painful death from radiation poisoning, and the Bosporus Strait is closed to human habitation forever?”
“Okay, so it is what it is,” Gavin offered. “But one thing I do know, the longer we wait to take action, the less chance we have of ever succeeding. Some of those countries will start swinging over to his side, and before we know it, Tulley’s little empire will be too big to fail. Too big to risk going to war with. And then, of course, there’s the whole issue of his crusade against the Muslims. I don’t know exactly how that might play out with the Western countries, but I can tell you this, all these threats of his, echoed by the new pope and that Eusebius guy in Istanbul—New Rome—that doesn’t play out very well with the Muslim community. As many friends as I’ve built up in Rabat over the past year, I don’t think I’ll be able to show my face in that country for a very long time. And they’re one of the least polemic of the Muslim countries. Historically speaking, they’re our friends.”
Commander Jack, or Captain Jack, or whatever his real name was, had been siting quiet up until now, but finally decided to throw in his own two cents. “Thing is, a direct assault on the city, bomb or no bomb, that’s going to be a pretty bloody affair, with a whole lot of people dead by the time it’s all over. Maybe Turkey would sign off on that, but I can’t see our government having the balls to authorize it. And if we won’t do it, nobody else in Europe is going to make a move, either. So that leaves us with only one other option. We find ourselves another back door. Race in and grab the bastard in his sleep.”
“Yeah, right.” Gavin shook his head. “Another back door? What are the chances of getting that lucky a third time in a row? And even if we could figure out a way to get inside undetected, what are our chances of getting to Tulley before he presses that button?”
Sam stood up suddenly, almost knocking her chair over in the process. “Actually, much better than you might think, at least our chances of finding a back way in. And if there is a chance, I just might know a guy who can tell us exactly where it is! Anyone up for another field trip?”
107
New Rome - Monday
Constantine was starting to regret being so harsh with Peter Boucher. The man got things done, unlike the sycophants he was surrounded with now in New Rome. And Boucher was ruthless, a quality Constantine truly admired. “So what’s the update on my speech?”
The Imperial Foreign Minister had been hovering at the periphery for half an hour now, waiting for a chance to speak with his emperor.
“Before we get to that, Your Excellency, I have some information on the Eastern Palace back in Göreme. We still don’t have any telephone or computer access to the complex, but we did finally get a text message from one of the workers. It seems there was some kind of explo
sion near the escape tunnel that took out a great deal of the first, second and third floor, including the server room and most of your office. The backup batteries would have been in the middle of that, so that explains why they lost power.”
“And Duval?”
“No word on what happened, or who survived, other than what I just told you. The guy who texted us, he was able to get outside and hike all the way out to where he could finally pick up a cell signal. We’re still trying to get a call through to him.”
“Keep working on that, but make it a low priority. We need to get the other countries on board. Any word on that?”
“Well, Your Excellency, given that it’s been just one day, we’ve made excellent progress—”
Constantine winced. “I don’t want caveats, dammit, I want results! Who’s on our team right now?”
“It looks like there’s a lot of interest in our proposals, but everything so far is conditional. Conditional on who else signs on, conditional on how much local control—”
“They should be more worried about maintaining control over keeping their head attached to their shoulders. But, okay, go on.”
“Yes, Sire. Well, the big news is that the U.S. is signaling they may be prepared to grant us some form of official recognition.”
“The United States? Really? Even though I’m still at the top of their most wanted list?” That news really surprised Constantine. A man who was rarely ever surprised.
“Yes, Your Excellency. It seems that the ongoing trade rift with Europe has left the American president in a feisty mood with regards to the Europeans. This might be a timely ‘screw you’ opportunity for them that we should jump on top of while it lasts.”
“Good, good, I like that.” Constantine had been avoiding eye contact with his minister, but now decided the man might be doing a better job than he had expected at first. “What about Bosnia? What are they? Half Muslim? How do we solve that?”