CABAL (The Vatican Knights Book 9)

by Rick Jones

  “So what you see around us,” she said. Then she pointed to the children playing patty-cake in the other vehicle, and at the Jews and the Christians and the Arabs smiling to each other equally and without prejudice or condemnation. “So what you see around us—this magic—will all go away once the Islamic State finally catches up with us?”

  Kimball’s shoulders slumped with the crookedness of an Indian’s bow. It was the awful look of defeat. “Yes,” he said. “It’ll go away.”

  Just then the sliding glass panel between the cab and the bed slid open, and Jeremiah handed Kimball the sat-phone. “SIV,” he said.

  Kimball took the phone and listened.

  It was not good news. Worse, the phone was dying, the power critically low. Soon they would be running blind and without aid. After killing the call he looked at the children. Then he softly caressed Yara’s hair that was as soft as silk. When she lifted her head from his lap and she smiled at him, Kimball felt the sting of tears beginning to well.

  These were beautiful children. Innocent children. And the magic within them was about to be snuffed out by the will of evil men who seemed not to care about the value of such magic. It was valueless to them as was life.

  Kimball pulled Yara close and embraced her, telling her in English that everything was going to be all right, even though she didn’t understand a word he was saying.

  But when Sister Kelly saw a tear slip from the corner of Kimball’s eye, she realized two things: One, none of them would live to see the light of a new day and he already knew this. And two, what he didn’t see was that he was filled with the Light he so badly sought.

  Despite their situation, Sister Kelly felt blessed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Rome, Italy

  The exteriors of the cube vans had been stenciled over to make them appear as vehicles from local companies in Rome. The interiors were laden with Semtex bricks with the exception of the fourth vehicle, which would carry a team of foot soldiers. The first three would act as decoys and pave a way into St. Peter’s Square to create chaos, whereas the fourth vehicle would redirect to the entryway leading to the Apostolic Palace.

  Raamiz had planned well for the mission. Now with financial funding that allowed his unit to reach into distant lands with a deadly touch, Raamiz now had to pave his way into Paradise. So he bowed and prayed to a god who demanded payments of killing those who did not see Allah as the way. By this time tomorrow—at the conclusion of his earthly mission—he would become the beneficiary of eternal blessedness and be received into Paradise.

  Raamiz leaned forward and placed his forehead against his prayer rug, mouthed a few words, then raised himself back into a kneeling position. When the session was over he rolled up his carpet and set it aside. Then checking his cellphone he saw a simple text that was sent from Chahine in Syria. The screen read ‘7734,’ a simple play on numbers. When the screen was upside down the digital numbers ‘7734’ would read as ‘hell.’ It was a less than sophisticated display, but one that commanded a response that was just as sophomoric. So he typed in a colon and an end-parenthesis to make the emoji of a happy face, then sent it. The mission was a go with no problems on Raamiz’s end. Everything was in place, the charges were set, and his team was ready to go.

  Raamiz continued to look at the phone’s screen and at the last sending message of the happy face. And then the screen winked off just as he was laying the phone down on the table.

  Raamiz knew he would not sleep this night. Instead, he would keep telling himself that there was no such thing as death, only transition.

  And as he prayed throughout the day and into the night, he could feel his heart racing from a dose of adrenaline being pumped into his system. He tried to make himself believe it was the anticipation and thrill of seeing Allah’s Light. But no matter how much he tried to hide the truth from himself and his god, deep inside he knew it was really one thing.

  He was feeling fear that often accompanied those who knew they were about to die violently.

  Raamiz continued to pray.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Kimball slapped the panel of the pickup, a message to Jeremiah to stop the truck. Then gently, as if Yara was as fragile with glass, he set her aside while Farid stirred and awoke as well, the young boy raising his head from Kimball’s lap and rubbing both eyes with balled fists.

  The sat-phone was still in Kimball’s hand.

  “Something the matter, Mr. Hayden?” asked Sister Kelly.

  He held up the sat-phone for her to see. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think? I think the magic is about to end.”

  He didn’t say anything. He simply thought it: Then you would be right.

  Kimball jumped down from the bed as the second truck circled around and came up beside him.

  When seeing the phone, Isaiah asked: “Change in plans?”

  Kimball nodded. “The phone’s dead,” he said, then tossed it into the pickup’s bed. “I was talking to Father Auciello. There’s a team running from the east on an intercept course, from Damascus. They’re running an angle and will beat us to our southerly point by at least two hours. It appears that we have a tail who’s been handing out our coordinates as we make our way.”

  “Sayed?”

  Kimball nodded. “Most likely.”

  “Then we’ll take him out.”

  “He’ll just run if he sees us coming. And on top of it all we’d be wasting valuable time while the Damascus Team catches up.”

  Isaiah said: “We can’t go north. We can’t go south. The Golan Heights is certainly out of the question.”

  Kimball knew what he was leading up to. “So that leaves east,” he said. “Into Iraq.”

  Isaiah looked at the sisters’ faces and noted that they were listening intently. Obviously they knew what everyone else knew: they didn’t have enough fuel.

  “Bonasero is trying to work a deal with Jordan,” added Kimball. “But it doesn’t appear that the government wants to get involved in a situation that’s not their own. And Israel’s too far to the west.”

  Isaiah leaned into Kimball and whispered, “And when we run out of fuel?”

  “Then we fight,” he said. “We do what we have to do to protect the children. That has always been our goal.”

  “Let me go after Sayed,” said Isaiah. “I can drive him away so he can’t keep pace with us and alert the Damascus Team of our position.”

  “You’d never catch him. He knows this. You can drive him north as far as you possibly can. But he also knows that if you do this, then we’re grounded because I can’t transport all these people in one vehicle.”

  “And the phone’s dead?”

  Kimball looked at the yellow sat-phone, which a young boy was now toying around with with interest. “At this point we have no way to communicate with the Vatican. Just as Father Auciello hung up, the phone’s screen flashed ‘depleted battery,’ and then it winked off. But Father Auciello was able to get his message across. Going east to Iraq is our only chance.”

  Kimball saw what little hope the sisters had on the faces drain. So he lied to them by telling them that it would be ‘all right.’ But he saw the creeping sadness in Sister Kelly’s eyes. The magic she loved so much in these children, that special quality of innocence, was about to be ripped away by the pass of a knife’s blade across their throats.

  Within minutes the gas tanks were filled to capacity and the empty fuel containers discarded. Kimball took his seat in the back of the bed. Yara found comfort by sitting on his lap and leaning into his chest. Young Farid leaned close into Kimball, the boy feeling comfort in this as well. As the pickups began their final leg toward Iraq, Kimball watched the children in the other truck play some kind of hand game he didn’t recognize, something close to rock-paper-scissors but not quite. He saw Christians and Hebrews and Arabs integrated with no prejudices or hatreds to guide them. He saw absolutely nothing that would merit their killings.

  Nothing at
all.

  Then he looked at Sister Kelly, who apparently had been watching him. “You were right about the magic,” he told her.

  She offered him a gingerly smile. “But it’s been delightful to live within the presence of such wonderful enchantment, don’t you think? Children have been blessed to be ignorant. And sometimes, Mr. Hayden . . .”

  I know. “Ignorance is bliss.”

  She nodded. “I just pray to God that it’s quick.”

  But they both believed differently since the Islamic state was not known for mercy killings.

  So they sat in silence with their thoughts.

  Kimball catered to young Farid and Yara, making them feel as safe as possible within his embrace. How much longer he could continue to make them feel this way he didn’t know. All he knew was that he wished it could be forever.

  In the next truck he watched the children playing and smiling and acting as children should.

  In the next truck he was watching magic at its best.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The Papal Chamber

  Vatican City

  Bonasero Vessucci called a meeting with the top members of his security staff which included high-ranking members of the Swiss Guard; the Gendarmerie; Vatican Security; the SIV; and Leviticus, who was representing the Vatican Knights in Kimball’s absence.

  The topic was the current state of Vatican security: such as, how prepared were they against terrorist strikes? After the assault against Paris, the leadership within the Islamic State made mention that the Vatican would be next.

  “How secure are we?” the pontiff asked his Chief of Security, Anthony Spagnosi.

  “We have security manning all checkpoints. Every vehicle that enters and leaves Vatican City is thoroughly checked. We have bomb-sniffing dogs circulating St. Peter’s Square. Everyone who enters the city must do so at security checkpoints where they’re examined by a wand for metals and their bags checked. I think we’re good.”

  Bonasero turned to the Commander and Vice-Commander of the Swiss Guards. As required by their station, they were wearing a completely red uniform with a different style of breeches from those of lesser ranks, and golden embroidery on their sleeves. The Commander was Alesandro Batz, and the Vice-Commander was Henri Goodpaster.

  “Alesandro, let me start with you,” said the pontiff. “I need your thoughts on this threat.”

  The Commander of the Swiss Guard bowed his head in respect, then eased back into his seat. “The thing about ISIS,” he began, “is that they are a patient group. The Paris attack may have been in the planning stages for months before they finally responded with the attacks. The same may be true with Vatican City. It could be a day, a month, or maybe several months. But it is coming, Your Holiness. ”

  “And the Guard?”

  “We’re never complacent,” he responded. “We prepare everyday as if a threat is looming at our gates.”

  Bonasero redirected his questioning to Father Auciello. “And of course all this is coming from data received by the Mossad, the CIA and MI6, yes?”

  Father Auciello nodded. “We have nothing really significant at this point that the Islamic State is pressing further until the situation in Paris settles down. The Islamic State knows that they have alerted all agencies to take crucial examination of all Muslims in their territories, so they’ve been quiet. But just because they’ve been quiet doesn’t mean they’re not active. They could be circumventing our abilities to intercept their communications by using couriers. What we know about the Islamic State is this: they’re more sophisticated and their reach has become quite deadly. No one saw the raid on Paris, or in Yemen, or in Lebanon, or in any other of their soft-target points over the past few months. So what I’m saying, Your Holiness, is that we must remain vigilant.”

  “So the Islamic State is under the radar for the most part?”

  “And that is the measure of their success, thus far.”

  “So they could be here—now—in our backyard?”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate them, Your Holiness. Not one bit.”

  Additional concerns and comments were made by the command leadership from the branches of Vatican Security and the Gendarmerie. Assurances were made that Vatican City was safe. But on the other hand, even with security as tight as it was, nothing was foolproof. Nor was Vatican City impenetrable by any means.

  When the council was dismissed and left the chamber, Bonasero held Leviticus back so that they could hold their own private meeting.

  “I wish Kimball was here,” said the pontiff.

  “We all do.”

  “Your thoughts about security is a blind issue right now,” said Leviticus. “We know it’s coming. We just don’t know when. ISIS is a wealthy organization receiving money from selling antiquities on the black market as well as oil. They now have the finances to maneuver into position, buy certain weaponry, and attack at will. Let’s face it, Your Holiness, the borders to Vatican City are wide open.”

  “So you think, despite the security measures in place, that we’re vulnerable?”

  “I think they will strike quickly the moment they see us shoring up the borders surrounding St. Peter’s Square. The time to strike is at the moment of least resistance. So in my opinion, now would be the time since manpower is not at one hundred percent.”

  “The Swiss Guards and the Gendarmerie will handle all perimeter issues. Vatican Security and the Vatican Knights will secure the interior. How are we with the Vatican Knights?”

  Leviticus shook his head. “We’re very thin,” he said. “I mean like skeleton thin.”

  “How many?”

  “As you know, Your Holiness, most of our commandos are currently situated in hot spots all over the world as we speak. Here, at the Vatican, we have four on staff, including myself.”

  “Four . . . Is the world in that much of a mess?” When Bonasero said this he did so as a rhetorical statement, which Leviticus took it as such and said nothing. Then more softly: “And Kimball?”

  Leviticus nodded. “It’s not looking too good.”

  The pontiff nodded. “I spoke to the Jordanian principals personally. They’re reluctant to get involved because they fear retaliation from the Islamic State if they do. Since Jordan retaliated after one of their own fighter pilots was captured and executed by way of fire, there seems to be an unsteady truce between Jordan and the Islamic State, which the Jordanian principals want to maintain.”

  “So we’re restricted from launching our own team from Jordan?”

  Bonasero nodded. “To do so would seem like they got indirectly involved by allowing foreign forces to launch an assault from their borders, which would ultimately invite war to their homeland. The answer was ‘no.’”

  “What about Iraq?”

  “Iraq would be favorable given that the Americans and the British seem to wield some power with the authorities there. However, Kimball is much too far from their border.”

  “Can you get me the authority to launch a search and rescue from Iraq? We can meet Kimball half way.”

  “There’re only four of you.”

  “Kimball and his group make nine. Nine against thirty. All I ask is that we’re given a very special vehicle to see this through.”

  Bonasero looked at him quizzically. “What do you have in mind?”

  Leviticus laid it out in detail and talked for ten minutes straight without interruption, only for the pontiff to nod every once in a while in agreement or understanding.

  “With the entire team gone, that leaves the Vatican vulnerable to open attacks. But I see no other choice.” Then more decisively, he said, “Man your team, Leviticus. I’ll see that Vatican Security shores up the interior of the Palace during your absence. And I’ll inform the Holy See to contact American and British authorities in Iraq. We need to bring our Knights home . . . No matter what, Leviticus, we’ll see this done.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Sayed was dismayed when he saw the vehicles alter th
eir course to the east toward Iraq. Now the team from Damascus would have to alter the route as well, making a trajectory to the northeast rather than the southwest. The ability to intercept the group that had taken the son of Mabus had been taken away from them. The only option left to Ismail’s team was for them to close the gap and come up from the rear. But the distance between them was too great.

  “You must slow them down. Stop them if you have to,” Ismail ordered over the sat-phone.

  Sayed was on the other end. “They know,” he said. “They must have a link with someone who’s telling them of our positions.”

  “Obviously.” Ismail took a quick glance skyward, to where satellites may be posted. Then he glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed the colors of dusk approaching. “It’ll be night soon,” he said over the line. “You’re equipped for darkness, yes?” He was talking about night-vision goggles. “Use your discretion to approach the team under the cover of darkness. And do so carefully, Sayed. If you harm the son of Mabus in the engagement . . .” He let the words hang effectively in the air.

  “Yes, Ismail.”

  “They may be driving towards whomever is watching us. If it is the French who has the son of Mabus, the American and British authorities in Iraq will apply enough pressure to the Iraqi principals to mount a search-and-rescue mission on Syrian territory. You cannot allow this, Sayed. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Slow them down. Cripple a vehicle if you have to. Soon enough darkness will be your ally. Use it to your advantage.”

  “Yes, Ismail.”

  “And, Sayed?”

  “Yes.”

  “To fail me is to fail Mabus.” Another effective statement before he closed the conversation.

  Then he looked at the new set of coordinates given to him by Sayed, and proffered them to his driver. They were now heading east.

  #

  Sayed was staring at the sat-phone. Ismail was a curt individual who was a master at motivating people through fear. And Sayed was motivated. Failure to meet the demands of the cabal was a failure in the eyes of Allah. And failure in the eyes of Allah always spelled an end to one’s life.