Targeted Killing (The Vatican Knights Book 11)

by Rick Jones

  “How’d they find you?”

  Kimball shrugged. “Not sure. My best guess is when I served as security for John Paul in New York a few weeks ago. Cameras were everywhere. Someone had to notice—perhaps caught enough of a glimpse to set off an inquiry. They thought I was dead . . . Now they know otherwise.”

  “Can you get home?”

  “Not right now. They took my passport and money from the safe. I can get off the island eventually, but that would take time. I’m pretty sure they’re using VisageWare. So I have to stay low.”

  “You know the Vatican can get you home, Kimball. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “That’s not the point. They’re hemming me in because they want me dead. They’ll find me, Leviticus. And when they do they’ll kill me. Right now they’re faceless to me. The killer could be standing right beside me and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “We can protect you. We can get this resolved.”

  Another shake of Kimball’s head. “No way. We’re talking about the Special Activities Division, a company that’s relentless in their pursuit. No matter where I go, Leviticus, they’ll follow me in order to achieve the means. That includes following me all the way to the Vatican, if necessary, which I can’t allow. I will not bring this personal battle to the doorstep of the church. What I do need, however, are two things: First, I need the aid of the SIV. I need them to dig deep and look into matters for me, and see where and from whom this is coming from. I need to expose the handler who’s sanctioning this hit and have the Vatican apply pressure.”

  “And the second thing?”

  “Backup,” Kimball told him straightforwardly. “I need the Vatican Knights here, in Malta. I can’t fight this one alone. The SAD will be watching every exiting venue on the island. They’ll be watching the ports, the hydrofoil stations, Malta International, you name it.”

  “I’ll notify the SIV and see what they can do. Of course they’ll have to contact the pontiff.”

  “Of course.” But Kimball wasn’t quite there with trusting the new pope the way he did with Bonasero Vessucci, his intuitive guide whom he had come to love like a father and entrusted him with his deepest, darkest secrets. “How long? I’m sure the Special Activities Division is reorganizing their efforts. So time is critical.”

  “Malta’s just a jump away from Rome,” said Leviticus. “A few hours to coordinate. Just stay out of sight.”

  “I can’t stay at the retreat center. It’s a compromised location.”

  “Understood.”

  “I also have the hitman’s cellphone,” Kimball added. “But it has an app to encrypt messages.”

  “Hang on to it for the SIV. There may be something to support your claim against the CIA that we can use against them.”

  “You’ve got my number. Lock onto my GPS through my cellphone. Find me, Leviticus.”

  “We’re already on the move,” he said. “Hang tight.”

  And then the call was severed.

  Kimball went to the window. The rain had let up and patches of blue skies were beginning to show through the clouds. But night was still a long ways off. Though he could dodge the cameras at night, he couldn’t wait inside the retreat center for darkness to fall, either.

  So Kimball had to take the risk.

  Less than a minute later, he was running the streets.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lab of the Image Analysis Unit

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “We have confirmation,” stated the primary keyboardist. “Target is moving west from the retreat center.”

  Hartlin was watching everything on the screen. “Bring up the Malta command base on screen Six-Four.” he said evenly.

  The primary controller typed in the command. As soon as he keyed in the final command, a screen ignited with the word STAND-BY flashing.

  Within seconds Cooper was on the screen. “Yeah.”

  “We have Hayden,” said Hartlin. “He’s moving west to the shops from the retreat center. He’s most likely going to change his appearance. Watch him closely. There’re plenty of cameras in the district he’s heading to. Deveraux and his team are on the way from Turkey.”

  “Copy that.”

  “We’ll be patching through our feed to your BGAN in joint effort.”

  “Understood.”

  Then from Hartlin to his keyboardist. “Send the joint feed.”

  More taps on the keyboard.

  Then from Cooper: “Got it.”

  Hartlin nodded. Excellent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As soon as the rain let up, the streets began to mill with people. Which was good for Kimball as he walked amongst the crowd to blend in and get lost. The first thing that had to go regarding his identity was the removal of his cleric band, which he detached from his collar and placed inside a pocket of his military-styled pants. It was his prized possession, something he had always coveted because it kept him grounded and reminded him of what he was seeking, which was redemption. The cleric’s shirt, however, had to go completely since the sheer blackness was an odd beacon against the brightly patterned shirts of surrounding tourists.

  From the crowd he veered off and went inside a boutique geared strictly for travelers. It had loud touristy shirts, khaki shorts and caps. It also had shelves filled with shot glasses and souvenir spoons that bore images of Malta. There were baubles and trinkets of every kind. But Kimball went directly to the racks to grab a shirt, a boonie cap, and a pair of sunglasses. Then he paid the cashier with his last few Euros.

  Changing his shirt in the back of the store and fitting his boonie cap so that the brim hung over enough to hide some of the features of his face, then adding sunglasses, Kimball knew this was only a temporary fix. Malta had CCTV cameras everywhere, and the CIA had the ability to hack into every single one of them. It would be a matter of time before VisageWare tagged him; this he knew.

  After he left the store, he stood at the entryway and looked skyward. The sun, now peering through the clouds with Biblical beams alighting everywhere, was on its westward trajectory with dusk a few hours away.

  As a crowd of five was leaving the souvenir shop, Kimball ducked and followed close by as if he belonged, and kept his head low for a distance of several feet before he finally broke off from the pack and moved east.

  People on motor-scooters passed so close that he thought the extending mirrors would graze him as they went by. Then he considered their speed, which was much faster than moving on foot. For him it was something to consider should he need a quicker mode of transportation.

  But right now he needed a place of refuge until the arrival of the Vatican Knights.

  He meandered through the thin passageways between buildings, the Vatican Knight searching for recesses that were out of cameras’ view. When he settled within a recessed doorway in an alley that stunk like sour milk and urine, he watched the sun through the opening clouds make its slow progression to mark the end of the day.

  But nighttime always seemed so distant when being hunted by the light of day.

  So he kept his suppressed weapon close, knowing that newfound challenges would locate him eventually.

  And find him they would.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lab of the Image Analysis Unit

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “We lost him,” said the primary controller.

  “We didn’t lose anything,” Hartlin immediately contacted Cooper through his Bluetooth-like device. “Coop?”

  “Right here.”

  “You have the same feed as we do. We lost Hayden in the crowd, which means he’s gone into one of the shops to change his appearance. We’ll be sending you CCTV transmissions in a joint effort to prosecute the target with perimeter viewpoints from areas north, south, east and west of Hayden’s last known position.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Deveraux’s team is on the move and Hayden can’t go any
where. But we will find him. Right now I need you and your team to focus on ‘Operation Incite,’ since we’re time critical.”

  “Copy.”

  Then the live feed between them disconnected.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Malta Team

  “Hayden’s smart enough to stay low,” Cooper told Dill and Ripper. “And we have our orders from Base Command. We observe, track, and guide Deveraux’s team to the target.”

  “We can take him,” said Ripper.

  “You had your chance at the retreat center,” he returned. “Now Dodge and Cosmo are dead. And you were nearly taken out yourself.”

  “I’m telling you, Coop, we can take him.”

  Cooper nodded vehemently. “You’re not getting the picture,” he told him. “Kimball Hayden is a very dangerous man. Now he knows he’s being hunted. And that makes him a far more dangerous man. He’ll be watching. He’ll be waiting. And when such a man as he sees an opportunity, he will strike.”

  Ripper allowed his jaw to work in frustration. He wasn’t a man who accepted failure readily. Hayden had bested him once. Now he wanted a chance at a repeat performance, which was being denied him.

  “We have our orders, people. I’ll observe the monitors for Hayden while you concentrate on matters regarding ‘Operation Incite.’ Right now I need the two of you to coordinate with the field operator. I’ve been informed that the pieces have been assembled and locations for the operation identified. Get to it, boys. We’re on the clock.”

  Ripper conceded, even though he wanted a taste of Kimball Hayden. With his shoulders slumping with the crookedness of an Indian’s bow in defeat, he and Dill made preparations to meet with the Company’s Malta field operator.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Commander Deveraux and his elite military force touched down at the Malta International Airport approximately two hours after initial contact. The flight was immediate, the sense of urgency critically high.

  When the five-man unit disembarked, Deveraux was immediately on the phone with Cooper. “Coop.”

  “How you doing, Dev?”

  “Little problem with a targeted killing, I hear.”

  “This guy’s a little different.”

  “So I hear. I’ve read over his biographical information. Kind of a mean mother.”

  “The guy took out three of my team. He’s good, Dev. He’s not going to be a simple take down.”

  “You let me worry about that. You direct me to Hayden, my team will do the rest. Right now you concentrate on ‘Incite.’ That’s a priority.”

  “There’s a surfacing problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Local authorities are discovering the bodies. Malta doesn’t have this many kills in a year, let alone in one day. Streets are crawling with local law enforcement. Hayden cannot be caught or detained by the authorities. He cannot speak and open up old wounds.”

  “I hear you,” said Deveraux. “Do you have a fix on his location?”

  “Negative. Just the vicinity.”

  “Good enough. Give it to me and my team will converge. We know what he looks like. We’ll get this done.”

  When Cooper gave Deveraux the coordinates, Deveraux’s team programmed them into their watches which were GPS units.

  “Said and done,” said Deveraux. “We’ll ferret him out and get the deed done.”

  “Careful,” warned Cooper. “This guy is something special.”

  “Not on my watch he won’t be.” Then after a moment. “Keep in touch.”

  Deveraux hung up and began to head for the coordinates of Kimball’s last known location.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Vatican

  When Pope John Paul III was notified of Kimball’s situation in Malta by the Vatican’s Intelligence Agency, the SIV, or the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, the pontiff immediately dispatched a team of Vatican Knights with second lieutenants Leviticus and Isaiah taking lead, with Jeremiah and Job to serve as backup.

  The flight from Rome to Malta is 427 miles, about an hour of flying time.

  But when the plane finally landed at Malta International, it was dusk as the last streamers of colorful light began to fade along the horizon.

  Leviticus, after leaving the terminal, used his tablet to locate Kimball by using the GPS coordinates of Kimball’s cellphone.

  At the moment Kimball appeared to be idle, his location somewhere in downtown Valletta.

  Leviticus dialed Kimball’s number.

  Kimball answered. “Yeah.”

  “We have a fix on you,” he said. “Can you give us something more?”

  “I’m in an alleyway. That’s all I know. Trying to stay out of the view of the cameras.”

  “We’ve got a good reading. Should be there within the hour.”

  “Leviticus? Who’s with you?”

  “Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Job.”

  “I guess Pope John sent the best.”

  “He’s concerned for your welfare, Kimball. We all are. He’s asked for the SIV to classify this situation as a top priority, with an in-depth investigation on this matter. You still have the assassin’s phone?”

  “Yeah. I removed the unit’s tracker.”

  “But the memories are in tack?”

  “As far as I know. The phone’s not damaged.”

  “I need to transfer the memory information on that phone to a thumb-drive the SIV gave me, then forward it back to them for analysis. This app, however, may be difficult to decode since it’s a CIA application.”

  “It is what it is,” said Kimball. Then on another note: “Listen. I’ve whittled down the possible handler to two senators still in power. Rhames and Shore. The other two retired long ago, which means they don’t have the juice to command the SAD. And the Joint Chief who was involved in all this passed away some time ago.”

  “Senators Rhames and Shore,” Leviticus repeated. “I’ll pass the message along to the SIV.”

  “Lock on to my position, Leviticus. Find me before they do.”

  “We’re on our way,” he said. “Hang tight.”

  And then the connection ended, nothing but the click and white noise that eventually turned to absolute silence.

  #

  The Vatican Knights were on their way, which was a relief to Kimball since the playing field was beginning to level.

  When he looked west he noted the last few beams of colorful light reaching skyward. Between the patches of a few renegade clouds, the brightest stars could be seen in the backdrop of infinite blackness that was beginning to descend. Soon it would be nightfall, and the shadows would be deep and dark and full of mysteries.

  And it was here that Kimball felt most at ease; where the Gray he often walked in became the Black reality of his life. Here he was king.

  In the growing shadows, Kimball waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nine people were dead: three priests, three witnesses, three assassins. However, only five had been discovered; the three witnesses taken down by Benito Cosmo, and the two assassins taken down by Kimball Hayden. The bodies inside the retreat center had yet to be discovered.

  Nevertheless, five killings within a span of an hour was considered a massacre by Malta’s law enforcement and a cause for concern, especially when the Santa Marija festival was a couple of days away.

  Three civilians were shot point-blank in the back of the head, all execution style. Another lay on the bricks in front of a small café, the man stabbed to death. And the last lay in the middle of an alleyway with a well-placed shot to the forehead, with neither the stabbing or alleyway victims possessing any identification. At first robbery was suspected. But then that theory was summarily dismissed when the alleyway victim possessed an illegally suppressed firearm. So now the Malta police were canvassing the streets looking for answers to rising questions.

  Through all of this, Kimball Hayden stayed within the doorway’s recess for cover as the shadows were growing longer, darker and
deeper. And the transition from day to night seemed eternally slow to Kimball, with time moving at a glacial pace that tested his patience.

  Voices. At least three. All speaking Maltese in hushed tones.

  Kimball edged deeper into the recess with his weapon by his side.

  The voices came closer, the whispers louder. The tones, however, were intendedly cautious.

  Three police officers—all wearing light blue shirts with the Pulizija insignia and navy blue pants—were carefully scoping the narrow alleyway with Uzi-like weapons, all small and compact, but capable of lethal discharges at the pull of a finger.

  Kimball hung back knowing that the shadows weren’t quite deep or dark enough just yet, the shadows incomplete.

  One of the officers spotted Kimball, then directed the point of his weapon at him, the man speaking Maltese.

  The last thing Kimball wanted to do was to injure an officer. So he placed his weapon behind the waistband of his pants at the small of his back, and raised his hands, knowing they would eventually find the weapon on his person. Of course he would be detained. And when the ballistics analysis came back on the weapon and discovered it to be the firearm that killed Benito Cosmo, though it was in self-defense, even the Vatican would have a hard time trying to explain this one off.

  “I don’t understand Maltese,” said Kimball, edging forward from the recess.

  Then in English from the officer standing in the middle with his weapon held at eye-level, he yelled: “Hands over your head!”

  Kimball complied, his hands reaching.

  “With your left hand,” the officer began, his voice loud and in command, “reach down, grab your shirt, and lift it!”