by Rick Jones
And then the family would be reunited in an afterlife that Che did not believe in. When someone dies, he thought, there is nothing but darkness. So you have nothing to worry about, child, because in the end…it’s nothing but a deep sleep.
Then he reached down with a gloved hand and gently ran his palm over her blond hair in gentle strokes, soothing her.
The others watched, saying nothing as the truck continued on to its final point.
So far, the timing of Operation Scepter’s Rule was working to perfection.
* * *
Kwan Ma watched Yeong Che caress the child’s head with a critical eye. There was no room for adulation on any level, he thought. No room for anything outside of stoic reserve. The girl was not a pet to be adored with loving strokes, but an apparatus. Emotional separation had always been the brand of Office 35 members, a marquee strength that had always been the crucial element to see events through successfully.
To show otherwise was to show weakness, which Ma did not appreciate, even as second commander.
“So now we feel sorry for those we conquer?” he asked the Che in Korean.
Che gave Ma a hard look. He knew that Ma was typically regimented, a man who could not see beyond the strict ideologies he’d been imbued with as a member of the Office 35 club. Kim Jong-un was his god. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea was a country above all else, and a kingdom that had no equal. And for Ma to see him stroke the head of a child was precedent in Ma’s mind of a man who went against the spirit of Kim Jong-un.
She is the enemy.
Che removed his hand and said, “Victors we may be, Kwan. But in the end we are not animals.”
Ma sat there without betraying his emotions, their eyes locking.
Then Che looked down at the girl, who was searching the truck’s bay with keen appraisal.
“It matters not,” he said to Ma. “Whether I stroke the child’s head to comfort her, Kwan, in the end when both father and child have served their purpose, I will kill them both and I will not hesitate to do so once the doctor has been fully mined of information.” Then he leaned closer to Ma to punctuate his point. “Don’t ever question me again about my actions, whether you agree with them or not. I know where my loyalties lie. And I didn’t get to the top of the food chain otherwise. I’ve always placed a high sense of value in my duties and carried them out dutifully for the People’s Republic and Kim Jong-un. What I don’t need is for someone to question everything I do with critical examination. Is that clear, Kwan?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Yeong Che eased back into his seat with eyes that said: see that you do.
Then Che looked at the girl on the floor, her eyes darting about. What he said to Kwan Ma was absolutely true, every word. When her value was depleted, then she would become obsolete like her father once the particles had been fully harnessed for whatever application they’d been designed for.
And to be obsolete in North Korea, to have no value, gave reason to purge one’s life. He would enter their cell without a show of emotion and execute them both before they had time to register their deaths, the well-placed rounds killing them quickly. At least in Che’s mind their deaths would be painless and merciful, most likely something Kwan Ma would never agree to.
Checking his watch as the truck bounced roughly over the terrain, Che noted that everything was on track. Operation Scepter’s Rule continued to run smoothly.
What they didn’t know at the time was that a single discovery inside the warehouse in Zurich was about to set off a chain of events from law enforcement.
And Operation Scepter’s Rule was about to get a lot more difficult.
* * *
Emily Bosshart observed the number of men inside the truck—seven total; all heavily armed and wearing the garments of Special Forces. Then the man sitting close to her began to stroke her hair with gentle sweeps, which prompted a curt remark from another in a language she did not understand. After the man retracted his hand, he leaned forward and spoke to the other in a voice that had an edge to it, though with forced reserved, but one that still carried authoritative weight.
And then silence filled the cab, the two men locking eyes on each other, until the man in charge looked down at her once again.
She did not know who these people were or why they had taken her, but she kept hearing her father’s name come up repeatedly in conversation. And since the name Bosshart was pronounced the same in any language, she made the presumption that her father was somehow involved with her abduction, and that the meaning behind her kidnapping began and ended with him, though it wasn’t quite clear as to how or why.
After the man looked at his watch, she asked him, “Are you taking me to my father?”
“Of course,” he told her.
And that was all that was said between them for the rest of the journey, with both people remaining under the watchful eye of the one called Kwan Ma.
Chapter Twenty
After a period of silence that appeared to be working its way toward a moment of complete awkwardness between the two, Kimball finally said, “Look. I appreciate what you were trying to do for me on behalf of the Vatican, and I know the Vatican appreciates it as well. What you went through to seek redemption you did so on the terms outlined by the church. I seek my salvation on my terms, which separates you from me. The only one who can forgive me for my past sins is me.”
“No, Kimball. You forget that God can forgive you as well.”
Kimball wanted to shake his head. This guy just wasn’t getting it. Everyone—the monsignor, the pontiff and everyone in between—can absolve him. But the only one who can feel the absolution of pure forgiveness can only come from himself. Kimball had always lived in the Gray and skirted the Darkness in order to serve the Light. That’s what he did. Until the moment within himself when he senses that the Gray is gone and the Darkness distant, only then could he feel at ease knowing he had been embraced by the Light of Absolution.
Until then…
Kimball stood. “I’m going to get some exercise,” he said. “Will you be all right?”
Becher nodded. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?” He pointed out the window. “It’s a beautiful moment in my life. The landscape. The pristine of its beauty. I believe this might be a preface as to what’s to come.” Then he turned to Kimball. “Don’t you think?”
Kimball nodded. The scenery was spectacular.
“Kimball, I’m a dying man. I’ve lived in the Darkness long enough. If you choose to continue to do so, then I cannot change your ways no matter what I say. But listen to me when I say this: since you became a Vatican Knight, you have never deviated from the one rule that serves in the capacity that makes a true soldier of the Vatican.”
“And what’s that?”
“Loyalty above all else…except honor.”
Kimball stood still in the doorway between the roomette and the hallway, looking down at the old man.
“Think about it, Kimball. You’ve done nothing dishonorable, no matter what apostolic rules you may have cast aside to do what you thought was necessary to achieve the means…you never brought dishonor upon yourself or the church…Think about what I just said.”
Kimball did. Apparently Becher was still at it, trying to convince him of something he couldn’t convince himself of—that he was a good man who never brought dishonor to the church. And if he never brought dishonor to the church, how could he bring dishonor to God?
Kimball sighed. Nice try.
Without saying anything additional, Kimball closed the door behind him and left Becher alone to look out the window.
* * *
Frederic Becher had tried his best to show Kimball Hayden that he was not the only one who was deeply tortured. Becher had tried to guide Kimball to where Kimball didn’t want to go, at least not yet. Kimball was inside a comfort zone Becher could not fully understand. Why stay in the Gray when the Light wa
s at your reach? What was so appealing about the Gray that he continued to cling to it like a security blanket? And why chance damnation over salvation?
Becher continued to stare at the growing mountain scenery, thinking and wondering.
Our backgrounds are similar, Becher told himself. But we are nothing alike. Kimball is a unique creature who acts upon instinct without considering the consequences of his actions. He does not care if he bears the weight of Satan upon his shoulders, or the absolution of God within his soul. Kimball Hayden is comfortable with either because he is a man who acts upon his convictions whether they be right or wrong. He kills because that’s what he does. And he kills because he’s good at it. So perhaps in Kimball’s mind, Becher continued to wonder, he views Heaven and Hell as one and the same: good against evil, side by side, for all eternity.
The train continued its ascent into the mountains.
* * *
Kimball walked the aisles of the train cars needing time away from Becher. And though he saw Becher as a good man who meant well, Kimball was tired of the continuous coaching and psychobabble intended to make him whole. There was no ‘whole’ for people like him. There would always be holes for him to fill while others opened up, some as deep as gaping wounds. In fact, he wouldn’t know what to do if his emotions weren’t at war with one another, because this was how he lived. And this was who he was—a man who did as he felt and felt what he did, no matter if the end result was overwhelming guilt or cathartic.
As he walked the corridor between the roomettes, Kimball Hayden fished for his cellphone and found it. But he simply stared at its face, knowing there would be no service at this level. With a push of his thumb, he brought up the phone’s directory and one address in particular.
Shari Cohen.
She had been a recent victim of an assassination attempt, her family unfortunately caught within the crosshairs. Now as she was about to leave a DC hospital, Kimball wanted to reach out. Here was another void in his life, a vacuum, a gaping hole that could never be filled. As much as he cared and loved her, as much as he thought about her and even dreamed of them spending time together, he knew that she would never accept him because of his savage nature.
Kimball closed his eyes—could feel the emptiness within him as another hole went unfulfilled. He knew he could never change because he’d been groomed to become a certain way in life, a certain thing. And savageness had become inked into his soul like a tattoo, an indelible stain. And no matter how hard he would try to scrub away this blemish that had become so deeply fixed to his spirit, he knew it would never fully disappear.
He brought the lit screen of the cellphone to his forehead to press Shari’s name onto his skin, as if this would bring them close. In time he would call to see how she was doing. But for now all he could do was possess a measure of hope that something good would come from this in the end, perhaps a binding tie that would bring them closer together. It was a small measure of optimism, a distant hope. Without it, Kimball had nothing. But right now there was something besides his sense of hollowness, something that was alien and familiar to him at the same time. What he possessed was a smidgeon of hope that was nothing more than a brewing spark of desire. But it didn’t grow. It had no reason to because in the end when it was all said and done, she would still see Kimball as a man with savage taste.
Turning off the screen, he placed the phone inside his pocket and continued his walk along the aisle of the train.
Chapter Twenty-One
Yeong Che and his team of six had arrived at an outpost hidden deep inside regions of Switzerland that was untouched, the camp hidden beneath nets that were laden with brush to deny satellite imagery. As Che’s team was entering the country from the southwest part of Germany two days prior, a second unit consisting of techs from Office 35 and a team of commandos from the RGB, had entered from Austria the day before to set up a covert command center.
So when Che’s team arrived with the truck built to take the bumps and rises in such rough terrain, they came upon a small clearing that was covered by the draping ceilings of large nets. Beneath the nets sat two Russian-made Mil Mi-24 helicopters. With a maximum speed of 315 kilometers per hour, or 190 miles per hour by U.S. standards, it was capable of intercepting the train in thirty-three minutes, once the choppers were in the air.
After his team jumped from the back of the vehicle, a second unit was pulling back the nets to give the choppers unimpeded liftoff. The rotors began to turn as the pilots engaged the switches and throttles, at first the blades moved in slow revolutions, and then with blinding speed as the wash of the blades whipped the grass into a dancing frenzy.
Seeing this as a galvanizer, Che’s assault team immediately went to the choppers, entered the bays, and waited for their leader.
But Che was standing by the rear of the truck and looking at the girl, who was sobbing. “Don’t worry,” he cried over the loud volume of the rotating blades. “You’ll see your father soon enough. This I promise.”
She didn’t even acknowledge him, didn’t look his way.
Then a commando from the second unit joined him and saw the girl. “Bosshart’s daughter?”
Che nodded. “Watch her,” he told the commando. “Take good care of her.” There was a tone in his voice that amounted to care.
“The choppers are waiting, sir.”
Che looked at the helicopters, the rotors spinning. Then from Che: “Mission’s end will be in three hours. Maintain the stronghold until we return. Then we’ll convene upon our return and meet up with our contacts at the Austrian border. Once there, we should be safe.” Che returned his attention back to the girl. Emily I believe her name is.
Then: “Sir, the time. The choppers are ready.”
Che nodded. Then he hustled toward the first chopper, was aided into its bay by one of his teammates, and shut the door behind him. A moment later the choppers lifted in unison. But before they began to bank and head southwest toward their intercept point, Che was looking down just in time to see Emily being escorted from the vehicle.
A moment later, he lost sight of her as they headed for the mountains.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time Interpol was able to confirm the whereabouts of Ásbjörn Bosshart and notify the leading law officials in Italy and Switzerland, the express train out of Geneva had reached the narrow mountain passages and deep ravines in Switzerland, and was quickly closing in on the jurisdiction of Italy.
With Switzerland’s Swiss Federal Office of Police, the Gendarmerie, and Interpol working in collusion, it appeared that the train would soon be out of Andolf’s Bauer control once the train crossed over into Italy. And since the train was in the higher altitudes and in areas that did not provide a means to intercept it, this left the Gendarmerie and Interpol helpless to seize the Eurostar before it reached Rome. Right now the plan was to have the train divert its course to Milan, where law enforcement and sniper units would be ready. What they couldn’t plan for, however, was the human element.
Would Bosshart know that the train’s course had been altered?
And if so, would he panic and set off the particles?
All they could do was follow policy and procedure and hope for the best.
But by the time they found out that the train had entered the higher altitudes and mountain passes, all communication would be rendered impotent because the canyon walls would create a dead zone for a period of one hour, maybe longer. Once the train exited the passes and began its descent across Italian borders, law enforcement agents would make contact with the train’s engineer to divert the train to Milan. Somewhere between the passes and Milan the engineers would be informed to stop the train at a specific point between the mountain passes and Milan, a desolate area with tens of kilometers in all directions, which would be heavy with snipers prepared to neutralize Bosshart before he could set off the particles. If the attempt to take out the scientist failed and the antimatter detonated, only those caught within the cir
cumference of the blast would lose their lives.
Now that Jean Pierre was in charge of matters and working with principals in Milan, he had missed his window of opportunity to contact the train’s engineers once it had entered the mountain terrain. All he could do now was wait as it passed over deep gorges and move between chasm walls.
One hour, he thought, looking at the wall clock in his office.
It would also be the longest hour in his life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Kimball Hayden returned to the roomette, Becher appeared to be sleeping, his mouth slack jawed. But when Kimball tried to close the door quietly behind him, Becher raised his hand and waved at him dismissively, though he continued to keep his eyes closed.
“Don’t bother being quiet,” he told Kimball. “I’m not asleep. Just resting a bit.”
“Are you all right?”
Becher opened his eyes. “For the most part, yes. Sometimes I get these bouts of incredible weakness and fatigue. But it passes. Cancer has a way of doing that. It drains you.”
Kimball took the seat opposite Becher.
“You have a nice walk?” Becher asked him.
“Nice enough,” he said. “It’s a beautiful train.” Then he looked out the window. “And beautiful scenery.”
They were at a high altitude with mountains all around them, steep walls and snow-capped peaks, all in shades of purples and blues. From their seated position they could see the bends of the tracks that ran along the mountain’s walls, and the deep gorges and ravines that were traversed by stretches of state-of-the-art bridges.