Shot at Redemption

by Ken W. Smith

  “You are a real Princess,” CJ said. “That’s amazing.”

  “Now you know why it was so important for me to find and adopt Rameera. She reminded me of myself at thirteen. I would never have earned my freedom if I stayed in Saudi Arabia. I had to take a chance, and it paid off. But I sacrificed a lot and risked the lives of my mother and my adopted family. In the end, it was all worth it. Jay, is it decided? Will we come to work for you?”

  “I’m honored to have all three of you on my team. Gia, will you be my head of intelligence?”

  “Of course.”

  “CJ and Madman, you two will run my security operations and help me find new operators.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Chief,” CJ replied.

  Madman patted Jay on the shoulder, “I have one question. Where are we going to sleep? It’s a long commute from New Hampshire.”

  “It’s even farther from Amman,” Gia added.

  “Stay at the office in Woods Hole. It will be a little tight, but we’ll find a bigger facility. Gia, what are you going to do with Rameera?”

  “She will stay in Amman until I get settled, then she will move here. She is very excited to live in America.”

  “Welcome to Maravista Security,” Jay said as he dove off the breakwater into Falmouth Harbor.

  Chapter 16

  The Boston Globe religion writer described it as a modern miracle. Three weeks after the Pope was assassinated in Gandolfo, the Vatican conclave elected a new Pope. The world was shocked. Boston’s own Cardinal Sean O’Reilly will be known as Pope John Paul the Third. Today, the first of June, is inauguration day in Rome.

  The early morning streets of Fall River were quiet when Father Eugene Berle arrived by taxi. The priest from the St. Bonaventure Parish in New Bedford looked forward to praying with Bishop Ramirez before they rode to Boston. Cardinal Sean O’Reilly’s inauguration as Pope was remarkable, and he looked forward to the excitement and fellowship of the celebration.

  A priest for over fifty years, Father Berle was well-loved in New Bedford, especially with the Portuguese fishing community. Every year he presided over the Blessing of the Fleet, a three-day festival held every summer.

  He was about an hour early and planned to pray the rosary inside the St. Mary of the Assumption Cathedral until the Bishop was ready. As he walked up the stairs to the Cathedral entrance, a blond man in a black trench coat approached him from behind.

  “Excuse me, Father, may you have a few minutes?” the man said with a Russian accent.

  “Of course, my son. What bothers you?”

  “My mother is quite ill, and she would like to receive communion. She is sitting in my car behind the rectory.”

  “That is quite unorthodox. There is an eight o’clock mass in the Cathedral.”

  “Please, Father. It will only take a moment.”

  “Of course.”

  Father Berle followed the suspicious man around the corner into an alleyway behind the church. A twenty-year-old Continental sat idling with the back door open. As the priest bent down to enter the backseat, the blond-haired man removed a Makarov handgun with a silencer from his coat pocket. He placed the silencer to the back of the priest’s head and pulled the trigger. The elderly priest dropped to the ground. The man picked up the Father’s body and stripped off his vestment and clothes. He then picked up the naked body and threw it in a dumpster.

  Inside the limo, a young man pulled the vestment over his suicide vest and stepped out of the back seat. He checked to make sure his contact lenses and the rest of his disguise were in place. Then he blessed himself and walked up the steps and into the Cathedral.

  The gunman watched the suicide bomber go inside, then called his boss, “The goods are delivered. Be ready to go.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Jay Mendes scanned the parking area around the rectory. He had his new armored Chevy Suburban as the lead car and two rented armored Mercedes limousines for the ninety-minute trip to Boston. He drove with Gia in the Suburban while CJ and Madman drove the two limos.

  “Any sign of trouble, CJ?” Jay said into his headset radio.

  “Negative. All clear from up here,” CJ reported as he peered through his sniper scope from the rooftop of a school building across the street.

  “Why don’t you come down. Gia, who are we waiting for?”

  “The Bishop, Father Berle from New Bedford, and Father Pastorini from Westport.”

  Two minutes later, the door of the rectory opened, and two Priests came out. Jay asked them their names so he could verify his attendance sheet.

  “Father Bellevue, from New Bedford,” the younger one said.

  Jay scanned his security app on his iPhone, “I don’t have you on the list.”

  “Sorry, eh. I ah, am replacing Father Berle. He has a bad headache.”

  Jay stared at the Priest. Something was off, but he couldn’t figure it out,

  “Como se escreve seu sobrenome?” Jay asked in Portuguese. The Priest stared at him.

  “I mean, how do you spell your last name?”

  The priest spelled it out and proceeded to climb in the back of the second limo. Then the Bishop exited the rectory.

  “Is everything okay, Jay?”

  “Yes, Bishop. We are ready to leave.”

  * * *

  The trip to Boston went off without a hitch. When they arrived, Jay learned he was the only security team member allowed in the Cathedral. A burly State Trooper at the entrance told him the Cathedral was over capacity.

  “Everyone stay outside with the cars,” Jay said. “I’ll go in with the Bishop.”

  Jay looked up in amazement as he noticed the Cathedral of the Holy Cross for the first time. The large stone edifice soared over his head. Constructed in 1866, the Boston Archdiocese mother church stood 120 feet high and seated nearly 2,000 people. Jay led his group through the outer foyer and into the main sanctuary, where colossal marble columns supported ornately carved arches. A large white marble altar ordained the front of the Cathedral in front of majestic stained-glass windows. The early morning sun shone through the windows illuminating the Bible scenes depicted by the multi-colored glass.

  Jay passed his gun through the x-ray machine and then stepped through the metal detector. Oddly, there was no sign of any bomb-sniffing dogs who were always present at high-profile public events.

  After they passed through security, the Bishop took Jay by the elbow and whispered in his ear. Jay smiled.

  “The restrooms are in the basement,” Jay said. “Who needs to go?”

  “Sister Madonna, Father Bellevue, and me,” the Bishop said.

  “The stairs are around the corner.”

  “I know where it is since I have been here many times. Unfortunately, the Sister has a bad hip, so we will need to take the elevator.”

  “Of course,” Jay said.

  When they arrived at the lower level, Jay stepped into the men’s room and scanned the urinals and stalls. When he came out, he told the Bishop the room was secure.

  Sister Madonna finished first and stood next to Jay outside the restrooms and said, “It’s quite cold in here. I don’t know why they keep the temperature so low.

  Jay smiled but didn’t respond. The Bishop came out. However, the priest took several additional minutes.

  Something about Father Bellevue bothered Jay. He had shifty eyes and seemed to be quite nervous. He had an odd accent for a New Bedford priest, and he didn’t speak Portuguese. Most priests in New Bedford spoke the language because of the large immigrant population from Brazil and Portugal. When he exited the restroom, Jay noticed that the priest was sweating profusely and refused to make eye contact.

  Jay escorted The Bishop and Father Bellevue to the procession forming in the back of the Cathedral. He planned to sit with the priests and nuns towards the front of the nave. However, before they reached their aisle, a uniformed officer stopped him.

  “Sorry, buddy, private security officers are not allowed in
the pews. Not enough room. You’ll have to stand on the perimeter.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Jay said as he watched the Bishop take his position in the procession. Jay’s cell phone buzzed. The caller id showed it was from Marty.

  “Mendes here.”

  “I received a call from Fall River police,” Marty said. “They found a naked body in a dumpster near the church. It was an elderly priest named Father Berle. He was from New Bedford. You have an imposter in your group.”

  Jay thought about his encounter with Father Berle’s replacement and his comment about his headache. “He told me his name is Father Bellevue. Likely an alias. How was the Priest killed?”

  “Close contact shot to the back of the head. Assassination style.”

  “I know who it is. Call McCoy. Have him alert the officer in charge of security. Tell them I’m not a bad guy, and we may have a situation in the Cathedral.” Jay hung up.

  Organ music began playing, and a priest appeared on the altar, “Will everyone, please rise for the opening procession.” He raised both hands, and the congregation stood.

  * * *

  The lead altar server carried an ornate gold-leaf cross and led the procession down the central aisle. It reminded Jay of his youth when he served. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to a mass that wasn’t a funeral or a wedding.

  “Everybody, I need your attention,” Jay said on his radio. “Police in Fall River found a dead priest behind the rectory. A close-contact shot to the head killed him. We have an imposter either inside the Cathedral or in the vicinity. A Boston Police tactical team is activated, but I need you to search the area around the Cathedral’s perimeter. Look for any accomplices, snipers, or getaway cars. Notify a police officer if you see anything. Do not engage unless it is self-defense. I’ll handle things inside the Cathedral. We have to find him.”

  As Jay watched the procession, he spotted the Bishop and Father Bellevue towards the rear. A strange sweat pattern appeared on the back of Bellevue’s vestment.

  Jay thought for a moment, where did he see a stain like that before? Then he remembered his second tour in Iraq.

  He was accompanying a Marine detachment in Fallujah. They searched house-to-house when he saw a woman wearing a burka walk up to a Marine security team outside a hotel. She had a similar stain on the back of her burka. She offered them bottled water, but the Marines declined. A second later, the IED vest exploded, killing the woman and the soldiers.

  Jay pushed his way towards the altar, but a police officer grabbed him on the right shoulder. Wincing in pain, Jay tried to shove him aside, but the officer held on and pulled him down a cross-aisle.

  “What’s going on?” the officer said. “Why did you shove me? Who are you?”

  “I’m a private security agent,” Jay said, showing his ID badge. “There’s an imposter in the procession. He may be a suicide bomber.”

  “That’s crazy,” the officer replied. “Wait a minute. You look familiar. Were you at Bill Shannon’s funeral?”

  “Yeah,” Jay said, fearing the cop’s response. “We worked together.”

  “Oh shit, you’re Jay Mendes. Everyone in the precinct is talking about you. They say you’re a hero for saving the Bishop. I want to shake your hand. I’m Joe McCarthy from Quincy.”

  “That’s great,” Jay said as he pried the officer’s hand off his shoulder. “There he is.”

  The procession was halfway down the aisle. Jay pointed towards the priest near the back.

  “He looks normal to me,” McCarthy said.

  “Hold on a minute, and I’ll show you.”

  Jay watched the procession pass by. He nudged the cop, “Look how much he’s sweating. It’s too cold to sweat.”

  “Aw, come on, your nuts.”

  “Do I look like I’m nuts? Look at the pattern on his back. I’ve seen the same pattern in Iraq. He’s wearing a suicide vest. The sweat soaking through the robe is outlining the straps and pockets.”

  McCarthy released his grip on Jay’s arm then reached down to draw his firearm.

  “No, you’ll cause a panic,” Jay said. “I’ll handle this.”

  “What unit were you in?”

  “Navy. SEAL Teams Three and Six. I did multiple tours.”

  “I was in the Marines in the second fight for Fallujah. You guys saved our butts there. Go ahead. I’ll cover your backside.”

  The procession climbed the stairs to the altar. The servers split off to the right and left while the Bishops and Priests proceeded to several rows of chairs towards the back. Bishop Ramirez stood in front of a sizable satin-covered chair.

  The Bishop said an opening prayer and explained they would watch the inauguration on the TV screens and then celebrate mass.

  Jay and McCarthy pushed their way through the police officers lining the perimeter of the church. They worked their way to the front aisle but needed to get to the center to have a clear shot. Unfortunately, the Governor of Massachusetts and the Mayor of Boston stood surrounded by security guards in the front row.

  McCarthy pushed his way in front and cleared a path through the dignitaries so Jay could get into position.

  The large screen televisions showed an overhead view of St. Peter’s Square. The televisions were showing the GNN coverage from Rome, Boston, and New York. In Rome, Joanne Roberts was reporting from a helicopter above the packed plaza. The image zoomed in on the balcony where the new Pope would address the crowd. Jay watched the screen with one eye and kept an eye on his suspect with the other.

  “And here he comes,” Roberts said. “The doors to the balcony are opening. I can hear the roar from the vast crowd below. Thousands of American Catholics traveled to Rome to participate in this special occasion.”

  Loud applause rose from the clergy inside the Cathedral.

  Jay watched in amazement as the TV screens showed hundreds of thousands of people at the Vatican. The crowd seemed to have a life of its own as people sang and swayed back and forth. Close-up shots showed many were schoolchildren in Rome for the first time. Then the windows on the balcony opened, and the Pope waved to the crowd. The congregation in the Cathedral exploded in applause.

  The Pope raised his hands to greet the crowd, who cheered even louder. Then, he raised his hand to his forehead.

  The sweaty priest stepped out of the back, carrying a prayer book in both hands. He stepped in front of the Bishop.

  The Pope said, “Let us Pray.”

  Jay watched in horror as the fake priest held a detonation plunger in his hand.

  The congregation inside the church didn’t notice. Instead, they focused on the television screens.

  Jay heard CJ’s voice on his earpiece, “Any sign of the bomber?”

  “He’s on the altar standing in front of the Bishop.”

  “In the name of the Father,” the Pope proclaimed, raising his hand to his forehead.

  The bomber turned around to face the congregation and raised his hand with the plunger.

  Jay saw a faint green glow through the bomber’s vestment.

  Jay squatted in the middle of the center aisle. Nobody seemed to notice. He dropped to the floor, pulled out his handgun, assumed a shooting position, and chambered a round. He didn’t aim at the Priest’s head or chest but instead aimed at the green light.

  “And the son.” The Pope lowered his hand to his chest.

  The sweaty priest pressed the plunger down. The light turned red, activating the bomb.

  Jay focused on the red light.

  “And the Holy Spirit.”

  The bomber released his finger, yelling, “Praise the Master!”

  Jay fired twice, then awaited the bomb blast that would send him to the afterlife.

  Chapter 17

  Outside the Cathedral, the sound of explosions rocked the mobile television screens causing dozens of police officers to duck. CJ didn’t move. He watched the TVs in horror as five mushroom clouds simultaneously filled Saint Peter’s Square.

  CJ
thought he heard gunshots from Jay’s headset right before the explosion, but he wasn’t sure, “Jay, are you okay?” But there wasn’t an answer.

  Then he saw the Cathedral doors fly open. A wave of priests and nuns ran out in a panic. As the first priests made it to the bottom steps, gunshots rang out from a high-rise apartment building behind him. Automatic gunfire rained down on the panicked clergy in a steady stream of death, mowing them down like sitting ducks. Trying to escape from the gunfire, the survivors turned around and ran back into the church, creating more mayhem.

  Piled high like driftwood on the beach, the priests lay dead and dying on the front steps of the Cathedral.

  CJ turned around to look for the sniper when a bullet hit a Boston Police officer standing two feet away.

  CJ knelt behind the driver-side door of the armored limo for cover and yelled, “Sniper!”

  That’s when the bullets rained down on him. Bullets smashed into the armored exterior, causing sparks to fly. Luckily for CJ, none penetrated the thick steel.

  Kneeling behind the door, CJ searched for the shooter. It looked like the gunfire was coming from the roof of the ten-story apartment building behind him.

  “Madman, can you see the shooter?”

  “Negative.”

  “Gia?”

  “No, I’m pinned down behind the Suburban. I dragged an injured nun next to me to protect her.”

  “I need to get up higher, but my rifle is in the back of the SUV.”

  A State Police tactical squad ran past him with assault rifles drawn. A bullet struck the last officer in the chest, who fell to the ground in front of him.

  CJ instinctively reached out and pulled the officer to safety. Then, he pulled off their helmet and learned the officer was a woman.

  He picked up her assault rifle as she lay on the ground gasping for air. He inspected her Kevlar vest and found the bullet hole. He unstrapped the vest but couldn’t see any blood.

  “What… are you doing… with my gun?” she said.

  “I’m going to shoot the sniper.”

  “But you’re a… civilian.”

  “I was a sniper in the Army. Rangers. I need to stop him before more people die. Stay here, and you’ll be safe.”