by Rick Jones
Senator Rhames nodded. “And that’s the man who carried out the mission. Kimball Hayden. He sliced the man’s throat from ear to ear.”
Hartlin tried not to look surprised, but the flash in his eyes gave him away.
“What?” the senator asked him. “You think something like this is unique? The killing of a United States politician? Don’t let the deaths of the Kennedy brothers be nothing more than conspiracy theories to you. There may be a measure of validity to what actually happened to them.”
“But Senator Cartwright---”
“---Was a monster created by his own sense of egotism,” the senator finished. “He had intel on every major senator, congressman or rep in the House. He threatened just about everybody who didn’t vote his way on a Bill, threatening to bring out the skeletons in the closet and ruin careers if they didn’t support his measures. This continuous action of political extortion upset the balance of party power. Bills were being passed that shouldn’t have been because of his ability to intimidate. This was not democracy, but a breaking down of it.”
“So he was seen as a threat to the government.”
“And to the lives of those whose careers hung in the balance by Cartwright’s dictatorial ways of maneuvering through the legislative processes.”
“There must have been an awful lot of closets filled with skeletons,” said Hartlin.
“The closets of politicians are stacked high with them. Sometimes, Hart, necessary evils must be taken for the good of the whole. Like I said before: it’s all about the process for the preservation of the larger plan.”
“And Kimball Hayden?”
“He was a wrecking machine. A man of no conscience, no moral compass, but had a high sense of duty to his country.”
“And you set him loose on Senator Cartwright?”
Rhames pinned Hartlin with a neutral stare. Then finally: “I did. Along with a member of the Joint Chiefs, who’s now passed, and four other senators at the time; one whom continues to serve Congress as I do.”
“And the reason why I’m here?”
The senator pointed to the folder. “That man, I believe, though this needs absolute verification through VisageWare, is still alive.”
“You said he was dead.”
The senator nodded. “He was buried posthumously in Arlington. However, after the assassination of Cartwright, an investigation commenced. And because of it, certain political principals began to see Hayden as a threat to the subsequent cover-up, an open wound that needed to be closed. He was then given a covert mission to Iraq to deal with Saddam Hussein before the war broke out under the Bush Administration. The operation was one of impossible achievement, an action some would term as a ‘suicide mission.’ We needed a reason to terminate Hayden while under engagement in a hostile territory, so as not to draw suspicion from investigating eyes. The rate of accomplishment was less than one percent. And we knew this. We set him up. The optimum thing was to assure that Kimball Hayden was killed in the course of his duties, so that no questions would be asked.”
“And he never returned?”
“No. He didn’t. We all believed he was killed like we planned.”
“And the threat of Senator Cartwright’s murder eventually went to the wayside.”
“Eventually. Those with accusing fingers had no one to turn them to.”
“And now you believe this man to be alive? After so long?”
The Senator nodded. “Last night, on TV, I caught a glimpse of a man who was a part of the Vatican’s Security team. But it was enough to assure me it was Kimball Hayden. A crop of the photo taken from the programming is on that thumb-drive. Run it against the photo in that file. See if VisageWare confirms his identity.”
VisageWare was the department’s facial-recognition-software program that was capable of identifying certain landmarks on a person’s face to certainty, and then it had the ability to hack and tap into security and CCTV cameras across the globe to scan current whereabouts.
“And if it is him?” asked Hartlin.
“If it’s him,” the senator said evenly, “Then he is to be designated as a targeted killing. He knows too many government secrets, too many things he shouldn’t. Right now we live in a culture where the people of this country have little trust in its government. If half of the things that this man knows ever gets out to the masses, then all trust in this government would be completely fractured. Hayden is a grave threat to the security of this nation and needs to be neutralized.”
“We can always deny.”
“We’ve denied everything to such an extent that the people no longer believe in what we say anymore. Denying everything is part of the problem. We’ve come to a moment in time that we need to extinguish certain problems before they come to a head.”
“I understand.”
The senator sighed. “Hayden should have stayed dead. But if it is him, and I’m sure it is, you know what to do, Hart. Confirm and locate. Once done, send in the Special Activities Division to mop up what should have been done long ago.”
Hartlin nodded. “I can get the photo to VisageWare in the next few hours. If it is him, and if he is a member of the Vatican’s Security team, getting to him could prove to be difficult.”
“I didn’t think the word ‘difficult’ was a part of the SAD’s vernacular,” said the senator. “The Special Activities Division is an elite group. See it done.”
“Yes, Senator.”
“And get back to me as soon as you can as to what you find. If it is Kimball Hayden, then I want him taken out like yesterday.”
Hartlin nodded and left the office, leaving the file on the desk but carrying the thumb-drive in his hand.
As soon as the door closed with a definite click, Senator Rhames eased back into his chair, tented his fingers, and bounced them against his chin in deep thought. Kimball Hayden got lost for a reason. But should he and the secrets he kept be exposed, then he could be a very dangerous man. Even more so than he was now.
And if there was one thing that Senator Rhames remembered about Kimball Hayden, it was that Kimball was a man who responded with machine-like coldness—no emotions, no feelings, no morality.
And there was nothing more dangerous than a man who felt nothing.
Then the senator closed his eyes, could see the picture of Kimball Hayden within his mind’s eye, that frozen snippet on the television screen of the man wearing a cleric’s collar.
He opened his eyes.
A man seeking redemption?
Hardly.
No God could ever forgive such a man for the things he had done in his past. Once you look into the Darkness, then you carry it with you all your life. And Senator Rhames knew this first hand after glimpsing into the Darkness so long ago that Hell had certainly taken its claim upon his soul. In time, he would keep company with Kimball Hayden in the Eternal Lakes of Fire.
After little debate, he considered that he could have no better company.
And with this thought lingering on his mind, Senator Rhames continued to tap his fingertips nervously against his chin.
Chapter Five
Lab of the Image Analysis Unit
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Inside the CIA’s Forensic Lab in Langley, Virginia, Deputy Director Hartlin and his analysis team were examining the encrypted contents of the thumb-drive that was handed to Hartlin by Senator Rhames, on a classified mainframe.
The encryptions quickly assimilated into readable text, the information on Kimball Hayden spelling out as a well-rounded dossier. He had been recruited at an early age from the military because he showed masterful skills of combat and stealth, and was exemplary at carrying out tasks without question due to the lack of any moral compass. He was cold and brutal and without mercy, the man killing indiscriminately for the American government because he was the means of achievement. He had taken the lives of men, women and children for the sake of accomplishing a task at hand. If an innocent had co
mpromised the mission in any capacity, then Kimball Hayden would snuff out their life with all the ease of blowing out the flame on a candle’s wick.
He was a machine.
He was a monster.
And nothing denoted this more than the pinning blue eyes that were cold and without a flicker of emotion in his headshot photo.
As soon as the biographical information was transferred into digital form and the photos from the file fed into the facial recognition software program of VisageWare, or the FRSP, photos flashed on the monitor as the program tried to identify certain facial landmarks for positive ID. Hundreds of headshot photos zipped across the screen one right after another, the pictures mere glimpses to the naked eye as the program closed in with exact preciseness.
Within seconds a match was made. The stilled photo provided by Senator Rhames and the dossier had a hit, an exact match of 100%.
Kimball Hayden was still alive after all these years.
And with him America’s darkest secrets.
Hartlin quickly made a call.
#
Senator Rhames’ encrypted line went off in his office. He picked up the receiver. “Yeah.”
“Your boy is still alive,” said Hartlin.
“Positive?”
“One hundred percent.”
Rhames slammed an open palm against the surface of his desk. It seemed that the cancer wasn’t quite gone after all, but festering. “All right,” Senator Rhames said, forcing himself to be calm. “As of right now he is officially designated as a targeted killing. Find him. Once he’s located, then I want you to mobilize the Special Activities Division to terminate Kimball Hayden with extreme prejudice.”
“Understood.”
“This is a priority mission,” said Rhames. “Hayden embraces secrets that no man outside the box should ever hold.”
“Agreed,” said the deputy director. “I’ve read his file—the things he’s done. He’s a very dangerous animal.”
“Dangerous is an understatement.”
“We will find him.”
“Do it. And contact me when you do. And never, under any circumstances, contact me outside unsecured channels.”
“Understood.”
Then Hartlin hung up, leaving Senator Rhames to stare longingly at the receiver that was clutched in his hand.
Chapter Six
Washington, D.C.
Three Days Later
It didn’t take long to find Kimball Hayden’s location. In fact, it took less than three days. The CIA’s VisageWare programming had the ability to tap into security and CCTV cameras across the globe, and then analyze the features of faces everywhere.
On the third day, a hit was made on a man in Malta. He was large and broad of shoulder, his face angular and strong. And when he walked he did so with a gait that spoke volumes of a man who was gifted with confidence and power. Around his neck, however, was a cleric’s collar, which was baffling to Deputy Director Hartlin since the man was once a stone-cold assassin. It all seemed hypocritical to him.
Now he was under the trust of the pope? A man whom kings and queens bowed before.
The call he made to Senator Rhames came across a secured line after a series of internal connections from one server to the next. When Rhames came online, his voice sounded stressed. “Go.”
“We found Hayden,” the deputy director told him.
“Excellent. Where?”
“Of all places,” Hartlin answered, “he’s in Malta.”
Since the attempted coup in Turkey, plans had been set in motion to use military outposts in Malta to lease vacant airfields. These plans included a staged event of terrorism commencing on Malta soil under the assumption that the occurrence was ISIS related. It was hoped that Malta would then jump at American intervention for the sake of national security. Terrorism would be stonewalled with further acts no longer a disconcerting issue for the Maltese government. America would be the backbone of Malta defense with a massive air-fleet within striking distance of the Middle East.
“Are you sure?”
“He’s wearing a cleric collar like you saw on the video. We’ve tried to hack into the SIV’s computer mainframe, but we were pushed back.” The SIV was the Vatican’s Intelligence Agency. “We’re not sure as to his role with the Vatican or to the pope, if any. What we do know, however, is that the Vatican leases a retreat center in Malta for priests on sabbatical. He’s not a member of the St. John’s Co-Cathedral. In fact, he’s nothing at all. The man remains entirely off the grid.”
“But he’s there? For sure?”
“Yes.”
A beat. Then: “I know we have an operation working in Malta. Do we have anybody there from the Special Activities Division? Anybody at all?”
“No, sir. Just a field-agent observing and paving the way for the campaign to take the airfields.”
“I want Cooper from Special Activities to be Point,” said the senator. “He is to have full operational command of the situation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do whatever it takes to assure that Kimball Hayden is dead by the end of this week.”
“Yes, Senator.”
“And one more thing,” Rhames added. “Before he’s dispatched he needs to know one thing . . . He deserves that much.”
“What’s that?”
“Whoever Cooper assigns to commit to the targeted killing, I want Kimball Hayden to know that his service to his country was well-appreciated by those involved . . . But he should have stayed dead.”
“Will do,” said Hartlin.
Then the line went dead.
Chapter Seven
Two Days Later
The Excelsior Grand Hotel
Valletta, Malta
Cooper had been the Special Activities Division’s leading operator since 2013. After his commander resigned his post for civilian life, Cooper quickly found himself taking the CIA’s most coveted seat as team leader for military operations. He was a former Delta, a man who led missions at TS levels that could never be exposed regardless of the outcome. Though the SEALs got all the press and attention, it was Delta Force who remained beneath the umbrella of covert activities, especially when the aftermaths of operations were completed.
He had been in Afghanistan and Yemen, had worked areas in Iraq and Syria and killed for the sake of the overall picture, which was to strengthen national security by taking the lives of those who promoted threats against U.S. sovereignty.
Now there was a new threat.
And his name was Kimball Hayden.
Cooper addressed his team of six paramilitaries who were seated throughout the hotel room. The balcony door was open, which allowed a cool breeze to slip in from the ocean and with it the scent of salty air. Everyone had the dossier photo of a much younger Kimball Hayden in their hands.
“Listen up, people,” he said. “This man is a threat to national security on a level that immobilized us two weeks ahead of schedule. We all know about the operation to secure the Malta airfields. We’ll be coordinating said task of that operation, along with the targeted killing of the man in the photos. His name is Kimball Hayden, a former United States operative who absconded from service several years ago. The reasons for the targeted killing isn’t clear. What is clear, though, is that he’s an extreme threat to the national security of the United States. He has no idea we’re here. Or that he’s being hunted. He is, however, a very dangerous man who’s aware of his surroundings. I’ve read his file. This man is as cruel as he is dangerous. So do not become complacent, boys, by thinking he’s an easy target because he’s unaware of being in the crosshairs.”
John Daphne was once a SEAL who served in the greatest hotspots across the globe. He was a good-sized soldier who stood at six-two and weighed in at 200 pounds. “Do we know his location?” he asked Cooper.
“Most likely at a retreat center leased by the Vatican, though this is unconfirmed since his name is not on the register. But that matters little
since there’s no record of Kimball Hayden ever entering or leaving Malta at all. If he’s here, then he’s under the radar for a reason.” Cooper quickly surveyed his team with absorption—the group an assembly of the finest assassins in the world—a moment before speaking. Then: “Now we’re here for two reasons,” he told them. “Number one, we’re here to set up Operation Incite.” Incite was the working tag-name of setting the stage for the bombings during the festival of Santa Marija, and then pointing an accusing finger at ISIS in order to pave the way for American forces to lease the Malta airfields, for promises to Malta of added national security.
“And two, we take out Kimball Hayden. So we multi-task and do what we do best, people. We do our jobs, we commit to duty to our country, and then we go home to be with our families. Questions?”
Daphne: “This Hayden guy. Who’s the trigger on this?”
“You,” answered Cooper. “You and Ripper will coordinate. Be aware that this guy is passing himself off as a priest. And it’s believed that he may serve the Vatican in some capacity, maybe security. But confirmation on this has yet to be proven. I’ve also been informed that he is a man of keen sense. So again, do not become complacent with the target. Once the mark has been confirmed to be the absolute discovery, then you will respond accordingly.”
Daphne nodded. “Two shots to center mass, one to the head.”
“Then get out of there. Ripper and Dodge will work to sanitize any existence of Hayden, while you’re taking care of business on your end.”
Daphne studied the headshot photo of Kimball Hayden and made his own assessments. In the photo the guy was young. But anyone gone for too long from the realities of life often loses his edge. Even Superman loses his muscles after a while when they’re not used properly.
Just another targeted killing, Daphne told himself, in a seemingly long line of killings.