by Rick Jones
Getting to the platform, he looked through the glass into the other car, and saw the Koreans dressed in black and wearing their commando gear. For a moment their eyes locked. A moment thereafter, the militants redirected their line of fire and set off more shots, the window around Kimball exploding into pieces of tempered glass that were no larger than chips of diamonds.
Kimball ducked away while unslinging his weapon from his backside.
The gunfire, however, continued as the Koreans slowly walked down the train’s corridor in Kimball’s direction.
Bullets smashed into the door to the car behind Kimball and shattered its glass.
Then came a moment of interrupted fire as a small break opened to Kimball. In the short lapse of time it took for them to eject their magazines to pop in fresh loads, Kimball reached around the corner with his gun-heavy hand, aimed the MP7 through the smashed-out window, and set off his own series of gunshots.
The rounds went straight and true with one of two bullets striking Chul Kae square in the face, a head shot, the impact smashing a bloody hole in his ski-mask that obliterated his nose and the left side of his face. The Korean arced his back and dropped his weapon, the man standing longer than he should have considering such facial damage, before he finally surrendered to his mortal fate, the man falling hard against the floor.
The second man ducked into one of the roomettes by diving through the glass door, and finding cover with the patrons of the room, an elderly couple.
Then he regained himself, poked his weapon around the doorway, and blindly set off a few rounds. When there was no return gunfire, Tang stepped into the corridor and looked towards the platform.
The man was gone.
* * *
For Kimball Hayden there was good news and bad news. The good news was that he had lessened the count of his enemy by one. The bad news, however, was that he was out of rounds. Examining the weapon after it sounded off with a series of dry clicks, he discarded the MP7 by tossing it off the car, the weapon falling and pinwheeling its way down the gorge, as the train began to cross the bridge that traversed the 1,200-foot ravine.
Then he opened the door to the car to take flight from Tang, a man who was well armed. But he didn’t go far knowing that he had hostiles to the front of him as well, with limited space to roam. But a Vatican Knight always used his surroundings to his advantage, used the shadows as his ally. And since a Vatican Knight was never to be hunted, he waited on Tang.
* * *
Kwan Tang was livid. Chul Kae was dead. Pae and Sobong were probably dead as well. And Hu had died as a result of mishandling a bad landing on the train’s rooftop, the man falling to his death without lifting a finger in combat.
That left three of them: Che, Ma and himself.
Slowly, and cautiously, and using the point of his weapon to guide him, Tang moved down the corridor and towards the platform that led into the next car. The operative was nowhere to be seen. And when he was seen, at least to Tang, he was nothing but a silhouette of a man who fired back in retaliation.
As Tang neared the door to the platform that divided the cars, pieces of broken glass crunched beneath his footfalls. Then with a free hand while holding his weapon steady with the other, he reached out to grab the door’s handle, and whipped the door aside. All he could hear was the wheels going over the tracks.
When he stepped onto the platform, he saw that the train was riding along a bridge high above a ravine, the air cold and frigid, the day still bright. Then he looked up at the roofline with the point of his weapon and spotted no danger, no threat, and moved into the next car whose door was already open, an invitation perhaps.
With the same measure of prudence he used to move in the other car, he did the same here, moving with cautious steps and using the gun’s barrel as his lead. Step after step, footfall after footfall, he made his way along the corridor with roomettes to the left and right of him, their doors closed.
Then he called out commands in German and English, telling everyone to open their doors. They did as they were told, with all doors sliding open with the exception of one. Tang moved towards the closed door with purpose and intent, yelling orders for everyone to open their doors.
This one door, however, remained closed.
Tang took position with all his attention focused to the roomette that had its blinds drawn, and issued a final command.
Nothing.
And then he began to strafe the roomette with gunfire, the soldier moving the mouth of his gun’s barrel from left to right, then right to left, the rounds chewing up the wood of the panels and framing, sending shards and splinters off in a haze of smoke as glass shattered.
The moment Tang spent all his rounds, he fluidly began his motion to eject one magazine to seat another, Kimball raced out of the roomette that was across the apartment Tang had focused on, and knocked the Korean off balance with a blow to the back of Tang’s head from behind.
Tang, suddenly seeing a flurry of internal stars that came and went quickly, dropped his weapon. But he regained himself quickly and withdrew his knife from his rigging that was attached to his thigh, a KA-BAR, a weapon Kimball had come to adore as a bodily extension of himself, since he was one of the best in the world when it came to the use of double-edged weaponry.
The only problem was that Tang was in possession of it.
Suddenly all the doors to the surrounding roomettes closed in unison, a collective bang as the patrons did their best to shut themselves off from the world.
Tang, maneuvering with the knife in his hand, saw the cleric’s collar worn by his enemy, a priest. But this man did not look like a priest at all. His size was more likened to a man who kept himself fit for a reason. And though he appeared priestly in dress from the waist up, his dress from the waist down was military by design. And there was no doubt in Tang’s mind that this man was a formidable warrior.
As Tang waved the knife back and forth, he sought for an opportunity to slash and gut. As he searched his opponent, that’s when he saw the wound in Kimball’s side. Apparently one of their rounds had struck home, though the wound didn’t appear to slow the priest down much.
After grinding the balls of his feet against the surface of the floor to set his posture, Tang lunged forward like a fencer with a foil, and came at Kimball with a forward jab. But the priest was quick as he stepped aside, grabbed Tang by the wrist, torqued it in such a way that Tang released the knife, and struck Tang in the face with his palm, sending the Korean operative through the glass partition of a roomette and to the floor.
Kimball followed Tang through the ruined door as a couple of patrons, a man and a woman, huddled close together against the wall. As Tang got to his feet to set himself, Kimball reached for him. But Tang lashed a leg out and found Kimball’s sore spot of his bullet wound. The pain was all-consuming as it traveled along his side like the charge of an electric bolt, the impact driving Kimball back into the corridor with a hand to his injury.
Tang, seeing an opening, jumped through the doorway and gave Kimball two more stinging kicks, one to the knee and the other to his chin, the motion so fast that Kimball never saw it coming, the double impacts driving him hard against the door of the room across the way, the Vatican Knight dazed.
Then Tang was on top of him throwing lightning-quick blows to Kimball’s wound, his punches coming away with his bloodied gloves. Then Kimball came across with an elbow strike to Tang’s jaw, the combatant stumbling backward as he tried to maintain balance. But Tang was losing consciousness as his eyes started to roll into sheer whites.
Then Kimball rushed the man and with a straight-forward kick, planted a foot squarely against Tang’s chest that sent him flying. The Korean fighter took flight and smashed through the passenger window, his body then sailing end-over-end into a 1,200-foot ravine.
Kimball went to the window and watched Tang all the way to the bottom. You’re not the only one who can throw a kick, bitch.
Then he eased away from
the window with a hand to his side. He was bleeding furiously through his clenched fingers, the wound aggravated by Tang’s blows. Then after making a comment to the couple inside the roomette, one they could barely hear or understand, Kimball picked up the knife left by Tang and made his way to the rear compartments.
Now there were two: Yeong Che and Kwan Ma, who just happened to be North Korean’s best.
Kimball Hayden would soon discover how good they really were.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Rome, Italy
After Interpol received the data from Bauer regarding the North Korean encampment, attempts to contact the train’s operators had proven to be unsuccessful, even though they had exited the Dead Zone ten minutes ago. The radio had gone unanswered, which told the managing agents that either the train’s communication’s center had been disabled, the engineers were incapacitated, or both. Getting the engineers to alter the train’s course to Milan now seemed like an impossibility.
“We’re getting nothing back by way of communication from the train,” a tech said to Jean Pierre.
Interpol was to intercede and redirect the train to a desolated area between the mountain pass and Milan, where Special Forces would be waiting. Now it appeared that Rome was going to be the final destination, regardless of the methods suggested by the International Police. They would simply have to readdress the situation should Rome become ground zero. If the current circumstance was not neutralized by the time the train neared the outskirts of Rome, an alternative suggestion was agreed upon by the political principals to see that this did not happen.
After Emily Bosshart provided a statement that she was kidnapped along with her mother, and knowing that her father had been coerced into stealing the particles of the antimatter by what is now known to be a North Korean faction, the undercurrents of what had unfolded would soon be classified as an act of terrorism by the international community. If the particles were not secured by the time the train reached a stretch of open country between Milan and Rome, however, then the Aeronautica Milatare would take it out with a barrage of missile fire before the particles could detonate inside Rome. More than 400 people would have to be sacrificed for the greater good of the whole.
Seeing his plan dissolve after the recent unfolding of events, Jean Pierre contacted Father Auciello of the Vatican’s Servizio Informazione del Vaticano. “Father Auciello.”
“Afternoon, Agent Pierre.”
“You’re well-informed as to the recent unfolding, yes? Andolf Bauer has been working as the official liaison between our organizations?”
“He has.”
“So you know that the engineers are not responding to our call to redirect the train to Milan.”
“I’ve been told. Consensus is that they might have been incapacitated.”
“Are you also aware that if this train remains under the command of hostile elements who are in the possession of a weapon of mass destruction, then the train is to be destroyed by missile fire from the Aeronautica Milatare somewhere between Milan and Rome?”
“I have.”
“If those particles go off, Father, it will have a yield five times greater than the bomb that went off at Hiroshima.”
“I understand that.”
“I was also informed by Andolf Bauer that the train has been out of the Dead Zone for almost fifteen minutes now. Your man will be within range of cell towers within five. I don’t think I have to tell you, Father, that we need him to act in order to secure those particles. Is he capable of doing so?”
“Like I said before about Kimball Hayden,” said Father Auciello. “What that man knows cannot be taught to others. He is unique at what he does. If he perceives a threat, he will respond to it the only way he can.”
Jean Pierre, however, after hearing this, still didn’t feel confident.
Then from Father Auciello: “The SIV has been trying to contact Kimball. We’ve sent him data and photos. If he’s onboard that train, Inspector, only God can stop him for what he is about to do.”
“He better, Father, because that train will never reach Rome. The Aeronautica Milatare is already on the move to intercept it.”
“There are more than four hundred people on that transport,” said Auciello. “You need to give our man time to defuse the situation. We are extremely confident that he can do so. I assure you, Inspector, that he has assessed the situation and is dealing with it as we speak. He knows the odds. And now he’s trying to level the playing field. Give him time to save those people.”
“There is a midway point between Rome and Milan, a stretch of land that is vacant for dozens of kilometers. That will be the point where the missiles will take out the train. If your man does not achieve the means by then…then we have no choice but to strike.”
“There are more than four hundred innocent lives onboard that train,” Auciello repeated.
“I understand that, Father. But there are more than three-point-seven million in Rome.”
After a moment of silence, Father Auciello said, “Understood. If you could please send me those coordinates, I’d be happy to relay them to my man onboard. He’ll be able to reference his position to the location of the airstrike, and figure out how much time he has in order to achieve the means.”
“Very good, Father. The coordinates will be sent. And I pray that your man can do what you say he can.”
The call was severed.
Chapter Fifty-Five
As soon as Kimball reached E-Car his cellphone chimed, signifying that he was within range of communication towers, and had a secured message in his box.
It was from Fathers Essex and Auciello from the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, the SIV. The message was a series of files, photos and data. After tapping the first file, a short biographical record of Ásbjörn Bosshart surfaced on the screen, the man he had seen in G-Car. The second was minimal data regarding the faction onboard, a military unit from North Korea who were trying to extract Bosshart as a high-priority target, along with the 448 grams of antimatter he appropriated from The CERN. The third file was a message that was to the absolute point: Under ‘NO’ circumstances is Ásbjörn Bosshart to be removed from the train, or the particles in his possession. SECURE and NEUTRALIZE.
“I’m way ahead of you on that one.”
Then he received another file that was recent, within the last few minutes.
Then his cellphone beeped three times in quick succession, telling him that its current charge was at 10%, which meant that time was limited. So he brought up the file and carefully examined it.
It was a set of coordinates, the location where the train was going to be the target of a missile strike if the insurgents onboard remained in control of the fast-moving vehicle, by the time they reached that particular point.
The phone was now at 5% and dying fast.
Kimball hit the ‘copy’ application for the coordinates, immediately went to a map site, pasted the coordinates into the map’s search engine, and pressed the button. The marker indicated a site between Milan and Rome, and a location approximately 80 miles south of his current position. Using mental calculations to convert European standards of measurement to American, and with the train moving at 140 kilometers per hour, that gave Kimball about an hour to subdue the two remaining terrorists onboard, which was plenty of time.
Then he looked at his wound. Kimball was bleeding out, Tang having done a wonderful job at aggravating the damage.
And then the phone chirped a final time, the unit dying.
Tucking it back inside the pocket, he knew he could borrow a phone from one of the passengers if he had to. But right now his time was regulated. He had maybe an hour to deactivate his last two opponents to secure the train. And if he continued to bleed out the way he was doing, his time could be much shorter than the window of time he was given. Worse, his skill set might be greatly diminished come the moment of his final engagement with his enemies, should his power be all but lost.
Looking
at his watch and seeing the second hand sweeping across its face, he knew he had to act fast.
Time, as always, was never a luxury.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Yeong Che and Kwan Ma had cleared the train by performing a sweep all the way to the rear car. The priest was not found. Nor the weapon that had been in Sobong’s possession. That was still missing.
Ma turned to Che. “No priest. No weapon.”
“Either he disrobed into other garments and discarded the weapon to blend in…Or he’s toward the front of the train where Tang and Kae are.”
“Maybe we missed him?”
Che nodded. “A Vatican Knight would never abandon another. He wasn’t with the other because he was on a mission.” Then another nod from Che. “No. This man is onboard and he’s hunting us as we’re hunting him. We were thorough in our search. If he was here, he would have responded.”
“Then we need to get up front where Tang and Kae are.”
But Che knew differently. Tang and Kae had no idea what they were up against. If they had crossed paths with a Vatican Knight, then most likely both men were dead.
With Che leading the way, the men made their way to the front of the train.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Despite the pain in his side, Kimball Hayden made it to his roomette from the train’s fore in less than two minutes. Once he opened the door, he thought his heart would misfire in his chest. Becher was lying on the floor with his body riddled with gunshot wounds, with most shots to center mass. Protruding slightly from his shirt pocket was the corner of his folded photo, its edges marred with blood spatter.