The God Particle

by Tom Avitabile

  ∞§∞

  Kasogi was frozen as the guard had turned and aimed his AK-47 at him. He instinctively went to crouch low, when the guard suddenly went into a spasm, sending a burst of gunfire into the air as his shoulder exploded. Kasogi took advantage and shot him again. One of the Kasogi’s men had slammed a rifle into one of the remaining guards, who was down with a broken sternum. There were only two guards and a truck driver left. Four prisoners now had rifles and the remaining captors knew they were going to be killed, so they started firing into the mass of Kasogi’s men.

  ∞§∞

  Bridge couldn’t draw a bead on the shooter farthest away, but the one firing from behind a stack of crates was in the clear. Bridge took him out with a shot to his back, which went right through his heart. The prisoners were now training their fire on the one remaining armed guard, who was out of Bridge’s line of fire. He grabbed his Mac 5 and webbing with the extra magazines and grenades clipped on and started running toward the camp.

  With the exception of the wounded and dead prisoners still in the open, the survivors had all found cover. The four with weapons were taking pot shots at the remaining guard’s position but getting nowhere.

  Bridge had circled around and come to the side of the camp opposite the holdout shooter. He grabbed a grenade from his webbing, placed it at the bottom of a fencepost and ducked for cover. The explosion tore a hole in the fence and he scrambled through. The prisoners turned in the direction of the blast and were about to fire when Kasogi yelled to his men to hold their fire and get down. They buried their heads as the “desert man” man scurried up to their position.

  “Konichiwa,” the desert dweller said, then added, still in Japanese, “I am here to get you out.” He took out a grenade and pulled the pin, then tossed it to the lone guard’s position. A second later, the threat was neutralized. He turned to the leader of the prisoners and asked, “Where’s the driver?”

  ∞§∞

  The Combat Information Center of the aircraft carrier Carl Vinson was restarting the operation to extract the operative, Sirocco, from the Sudanese desert. Only minutes before, it had been aborted, but now was back on. The report stated, four dead, six wounded.

  ∞§∞

  “I am Captain Kasogi Toshihira. My men and I are in your debt.” He bowed as he met the man who had come out of the desert like the wind.

  “Thank you for holding your fire as I approached, Captain Toshihira” Bridge said not offering his own name.

  “You are the sniper?”

  “Yes, and I have helicopters on the way to take you and your men to safety. Is this everyone?”

  “Of my crew, yes. But there were three Marines and a pilot and we haven’t seen them.”

  “Where is the driver?”

  “He’s over there.”

  Bridge went over to the driver, who was in a state of shock, but clearly not a combatant. It took a couple of minutes, but Bridge discovered that he reported to no one and there were no reinforcements for the guards. The scared man told of another place where he delivered supplies, where there were two guards and four men, Japanese, in uniforms, who were never unchained, in a shack. He went back to the captain.

  “I don’t think anyone else is coming, but just in case, Captain, have four of your best men serve as lookouts in all directions. The choppers will be here in thirty-five minutes. I will order a small detachment to rescue the Marines; they are being held about four kilometers up the road.”

  XIV. PAPAL ENVOY

  Bill had turned the communications center at Camp David into a working operations center. Nearly one hundred people had been mustered to help him find out who was behind the shoot-down and if it was part of a bigger plot, or just some lone nuts. The nagging thing was the priest. Priests don’t kill. Yet —

  “Joey Palumbo on the screen,” Cheryl said.

  Bill sat down in front of the secure teleconference screens. Joey was coming from the Sec Con at the US Embassy in Paris. “What’s up, Joey?”

  “I got to tell ya, Bill, I think I should be there right now. Can you fill me in on what you know so far?”

  “Well, we got a dead priest, Father Cleary, and his accomplice. As far as we know right now, he’s out of a Boston church and the other guy is from Vermont. No military past for either of them to account for the missile launcher or how they got it.”

  Cheryl, working a keyboard next to Bill, hit a few keys and the dossiers of both men appeared on a second screen. She also flash-trafficked them to the Embassy Signals Department under encryption.

  Bill could see Joey’s eyes divert to the screen to his right as he thought out loud. “Irish priest out of Boston; Cheryl, who from my staff is there?” Joey said.

  “Hal!” She called out to Hal Unger, Joey’s assistant, bent over next to her to get into the picture.

  Joey saw him. “Hal, good. Check with Boston P.D., Interpol, and Scotland Yard. You are looking for any connection to the IRA or any paramilitary group, for either of these guys that could access a tube launcher. Also get a track on the tube and tell me who made it and who had it last.”

  Hal left and Bill continued, “As you probably know by now, Dr. Landau was a leading researcher into the God Particle. So the priest thing is a little unsettling. I have two major theologians on the way right now, along with a papal envoy to the State Department.”

  “Cheryl, have Hal also check Earth Liberation Front and other environmental terrorism groups. Remember that ELF nut up in New York who was pissed off at Brookhaven National Labs?”

  “Yeah, our first ‘black-holer,’” Bill said. “Joey, you know what? Since you are in Europe, see if you can cop-talk to someone in security at CERN. Maybe they have a threat file.”

  “Good thinking. Anything else?”

  “No, not at this time.”

  “How’s little Richie handling all this?”

  “He’s running around with one of his toy helicopters going, boom, boom, boom.”

  “I guess that’s good he isn’t holding it in.”

  “I hope so. Be safe, Joey.”

  “You too, boss.”

  As the screen switched to black, Bill rolled back on his chair and re-ran the entire day’s events unconsciously rubbing his seared cheek. Was he missing something or not considering some essential aspect of what could be a new wave of attacks on America and American science?

  The phone rang.

  “Hiccock.”

  “Bad news, boss.”

  “Kronos, I am not accepting any more bad news today; quota’s filled.”

  “I contained as much as I could about Landau and the experiments he was advocating but a small thumbnail article got out. I’ll send it to you on SCIAD, but essentially it announces the start of what they are calling the Landau Protocols next week at CERN. I took it down, but not before the blog page got 326 hits.”

  “Keep scrubbing the Web for any of the keywords and include this new term, ‘the Landau Protocols.’”

  “Already done, Hic. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Bill knew that nothing, outside of theoretical science, was ever 100 percent, but he would have loved it if this Landau business had been totally contained. He would have to wait and see if anyone connected Landau’s death to the upcoming experiments.

  ∞§∞

  As the late afternoon sun was setting behind the blue-green hills, Bill could hear Richie and Janice laughing as they played in the pool when he passed them. The president’s Camp David office was rustic and had none of the intimidation of the Oval Office, which was purposefully designed without corners to disorient visiting heads of state and favor no domestic direction as to North, South, East or West. Here the soft tan leather chairs and brown and white cowhide rug made Bill think of it as an office more befitting a rich rancher or oilman.

  Cheryl led the three members of the clergy in for the meeting. After the introductory pleasantries, which included Bill’s request for confidentiality regarding the discussion, he got do
wn to the heart of the matter, asking if there was any theological basis for organized resistance to particle research. Their opinions and positions narrowly steered clear of any culpability for the recent attack. Yet, Bill sensed that they didn’t necessarily mourn the death of a man who was about to open the Pandora’s Box that held the God Particle.

  However, nothing they said was as intriguing to Bill as what the papal envoy was wearing. For the rest of the meeting Bill’s thoughts were distracted by the envoy. At the end, he thanked them all for the president of the United States, reminding them of their agreement to secrecy. As they were leaving, he innocently asked the papal envoy to remain.

  The bishop acquiesced. “Of course, Dr. Hiccock.”

  When they were alone, Bill went out on a diplomatic limb. “Your Eminence, I am not a diplomat, but would you mind speaking off the record with me?”

  “It has been my experience that nothing in Washington is ever off the record.”

  “Does here in the Maryland countryside count?” Bill tried a smile, but the Prince of the Church wasn’t cutting him any slack, so he moved on. “I advise the president of the United States, and normally I need nothing more than my scientific acumen and research, but this matter crosses a boundary between science and faith. I need your counsel on the part where I am not an expert, and I am afraid there may not be time to hash this out through normal diplomatic channels, so I ask you once again. Will you go off record with me? If you like we can draw up a non-disclosure agreement to bind both of us.”

  The bishop considered Bill’s offer. “Are you a Catholic?”

  “Not as observant as I should be, but yes.”

  “Then your affirmation of privacy will be all that I require, my son.”

  “Thank you, Your Eminence. Now again, I am not a diplomat, so please excuse me if I am a little blunt. What would the possibility be of getting a Vatican statement in favor of the research?”

  The man of religion weighed the question. He tapped his fingers for a few seconds and adjusted his position in the seat. “So you feel that a papal decree will defuse some of the animus being directed toward this research?”

  Bill pulled up a picture on his iPad and handed it over to the bishop. “This is why I am asking.”

  The bishop’s eyes widened as he saw the disturbing image of the dead priest in the trailer. “Have you identified this man?”

  “Unfortunately, he’s one of yours.”

  “Does the press have this?”

  “No, sir. And they never will.”

  “Unless I don’t cooperate?” the bishop said in a matter-of-fact way.

  Bill was stunned; he never meant to imply this as a threat. He was about to say, no, no, no, that’s not it, and then he thought again.

  “We are not interested in casting any suspicions on the Church. I am, however, not sure if Father Cleary acted alone or is part of a larger conspiracy. I want to make sure that there is no gray area in Church doctrine where his possible cohorts might hide.”

  “What you are asking for would be a departure from past practices. We don’t often find ourselves bolstering the — science.”

  “Father, that right there! You were trying to find another word, a word more politically correct than the one you were going to use — enemy!”

  “I cede your point. Bias is difficult to spot, even in one’s own view of the world.”

  “We can go back on the record now, Your Eminence.”

  “Very well.”

  “If I were to recommend to the president that our State Department initiate talks with the Vatican, the result of which would be to create a statement which would denounce anti-scientific violence, would the Vatican be disposed to agree?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Bill was thrown a bit. Had he misjudged the man?

  “I do believe there may be some meeting of the minds as to whether or not this kind of research is in concert with Vaticanum Secundum.”

  “I see. The statement you are proposing doesn’t recognize violence, yet the scope is limited by Vatican II, which doesn’t lock the Pope into a corner. I think we could live with that.”

  “And you said you weren’t a diplomat?”

  Bill smiled; his mind was running at one hundred miles per hour because none of this was the reason he had held the bishop over. Although he had broken some diplomatic ground that could be helpful, when the bishop stood to leave, Bill felt the pressure. He purposely overreached as he accepted the Bishop’s proffered hand. “Ouch, what the — ” Bill retrieved his hand with a little shake.

  “Sorry, my ring.”

  “No, my fault. That’s some ring, Your Eminence.” Bill continued his little play-acting by rubbing his hand.

  “Yes, it can be a little dangerous.”

  “What is the significance of it?” Bill marveled at the ring, which looked like barbed wire, and felt like it as well.

  “It is the last remnant of a very old order. I’m afraid I am rather sentimental.”

  “What order is that, er, was that?”

  The Vatican envoy’s sixth sense kicked in. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m sorry. If it’s a secret fraternity or something, I didn’t mean to — ”

  “No, it is an antique. Rings such as this were worn by the Knights of the Sepulchre.”

  “So they are no more?”

  “Pope Gregory disbanded them in the late 1800s.”

  “Well, forgive the vernacular to a man of God, but that’s one hell of a ring!”

  The stern patrician took the mild expletive with small exception, but noted nonetheless, “Go to church more, Dr. Hiccock.”

  “Thank you. Yes of course, Your Eminence.”

  ∞§∞

  “The Knights of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem. Founded in the Holy Land, 1099 A.D. during the First Crusade by Godfrey I, de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, as a Sovereign French Military Religious Order.”

  “Military?” Bill noted to Marilou Delacruz, a researcher from the State Department who had been hastily ordered to Camp David as a new member of the “Camp David Task Force.”

  “Yes, their raison d’être was Class One artifact protection.”

  “ — and Class One means?”

  “Any artifact that has actually touched the body of Christ.”

  “Like the Shroud of Turin.”

  “Yes, but in their case, specifically the Ring of Thorns.”

  “You mean the Crown of Thorns?”

  “Yes, ring or crown, either translation from the original Aramaic is correct.”

  Bill snapped his fingers, “That explains the ring! It wasn’t barbed wire, it was the Crown of Thorns.” The implication sunk in and Bill exploded out of the chair, leaving Marilou in the office.

  Being in her first few hours with Wild Bill Hiccock, she just shrugged and figured that’s why he was called that.

  Two seconds later, Bill called out to her, “Marilou, could you come with me, please?”

  A minute later, they were back in the secure conference room. Marilou sat next to Bill as the techs hooked them back up to the Embassy in Paris. While they were waiting, Bill engaged in small talk. “How long have you been at State?”

  “Six years, sir.”

  “It’s Bill. I want you to speak your mind here, no pulling punches. This ain’t diplomacy, it’s science. And it’s even more blunt than science, it’s about national security.”

  “Yes, sir — Bill, I understand.”

  “By the way, are you Catholic?”

  “Yes, my father was a deacon at an R.C. church back in the Philippines before they came to America and had me. I went to Catholic school and graduated from Fordham in international treaty law.”

  “Listen closely, and if you want to add anything just do it, don’t hold back.” Bill said with a smile he had learned was a reliable personnel management tool.

  Joey’s and Brooke’s images popped up on the monitors. Joey said, in an affected accent, “
Bonjour!”

  “Hi Brooke, Joe, this is Marilou. She is on loan from State and an expert on theological history. She has been briefed up a little bit, but she’s catching it on the fly as we go.”

  “Welcome to the team, Marilou,” Joey said.

  Bill handed a yellow pad to the tech and as he placed it under a camera on a copy stand, the image appeared on a monitor next to the one with Joey and Brooke on it.

  In Paris, it was on the monitor next to the one displaying the faces of Bill and Marilou. Joey immediately recognized the pencil drawing. “That’s the knockers!”

  “Wait, that’s a kind of ‘police sketch’ of the ring that both Sicard and the bishop had on. What are you talking about knockers, Joe?”

  “In the cellar of the Great Cathedral of Notre Dame, there are two big rings like that on these old wooden doors.”

  “Can you…” Bill was interrupted.

  “Excuse me, but Notre Dame is where they hold the Crown of Thorns; first placed there by Saint Louis in 1239 A.D. Currently on the first Friday of the month and every Friday during Lent, they hold the Veneration of the Crown of Thorns.” Marilou sheepishly looked over to Bill to see if he had meant it when he told her to speak up. Bill’s smile was her signal that it was okay.

  “Joey, I am starting to get a funny feeling here. Marilou, tell him about the Knights.”

  “The Knights of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem were the guardians of the rings, or crown.”

  “The Knight’s Chamber!” Brooke said, looking at Joey.

  “What is that?” Bill asked from three thousand miles away.