by Rick Jones
Chapter Forty-One
Kimball felt empty and cold inside with no other meaning or purpose in his life with the exception of self-preservation.
When he opened the trunk to the vehicle a small lamp popped on, lighting the interior. Beneath the spare tire was a small well. And inside the well was foam molding that held a Glock 21, a suppressor, and two 13-round clips. First he removed the Glock and suppressor, then threaded the suppressor into the mouth of the weapon’s barrel. He then seated a magazine, pulled the rack, and loaded a round in the chamber.
He then placed the weapon within the waistband at the small of his back, then used the tail of his shirt to cover the firearm.
After he closed the trunk, Kimball stood there staring at the distant beacons of light pouring down from the street lamps. His pursuit for the Light of Redemption was one continuous failed run after another, always within reach but never within his grasp. Perhaps the Light even grazing the tips of his fingers at one time or another.
But here, now, in Malta, he had received his second epiphany, one that was dark. His first epiphany had come at the killings of the two small boys in Iraq, which began his initial run toward salvation with the guidance of the Vatican. But this black epiphany he waded through was one of darkness and without hope.
Everyone he loved or cared about had been stricken from his life. His biological father, after years of a strained relationship, finally started upon that road to mending that tie only for his father to be taken a year later by a fast-moving cancer. And then the lives of Shari Cohen and Bonasero Vessucci entered his life, both stabilizing crutches that opened him up to believe that the Light of opportunities did exist with brilliant rays of hope. But Bonasero had been taken from him as well, a man whose inner brightness appeared close to ethereal, right up to the moment when a suicide bomber took his life inside the Apostolic Palace.
Kimball closed his eyes, his pain deepening.
Shari Cohen.
He cared for her deeply, maybe even loved her on some level. And now she lay in a coma, her health deteriorating as her body slowly developed into a husk of her former self.
Kimball opened his eyes and stared skyward, noting the countless numbers of pinprick lights that glittered like a cache of diamonds spread over black velvet.
Everyone who gave me direction, everyone who became a shining light in my life, You took away.
I can only reach for the Light for so long.
And then comes a time when I have to realize that I’ve finally been rejected.
Kimball drew in a deep breath with a long pull, then released a rush of air through his nostrils. The action was one of forcing calm, a purifying of thoughts and emotions, which left him only with his predatory instinct to hunt and kill.
With his face unable to showcase any semblance of emotion or sentiment, Kimball headed for the heart of Valletta.
Chapter Forty-Two
The Excelsior Hotel
Valletta, Malta
Ripper grimaced against the pain in his thigh, a little gift from Kimball Hayden.
On the table against the far wall sat the suitcases, both open with their lids up, both empty. The explosive devices were lined up on the mattress of the bed, their timers counting down from:
. . . 08:02:18 . . .
. . . 08:02:17 . . .
. . . 08:02:16 . . .
The fuses were cold and would remain so until the LED windows had zeroed out, the safety feature of the mechanism then neutralizing itself. A second source would then activate and send an electrical pulse to the micro-fuse, turning it from cold to hot, the result detonating the charges.
Grabbing one of the backpacks from the second case, Ripper gripped one Semtex brick at a time and placed it in the backpack, with the LED windows facing up. “Anything about Hayden?” he asked over his shoulder.
Cooper was standing before the multi-windowed screen of the PC monitor that showed empty streets at such an early hour. “My guess is that he’s off the island,” Cooper answered. “He may be gone, my friend . . . But certainly not forgotten. Hartlin’s working up a liquidation squad in Rome. If Hayden plans to run to the Vatican for refuge, he won’t even get to the doorway of the Basilica.”
Ripper placed the second brick in the bag, numbers up and working in perfect sync with the first.
Santomango was in the other room nursing his wound, while Dill sat quietly by the table nursing a drink.
Rodgers, Maynard and Ripley were sitting on the couch by the coffee table doing a weapons’ check, small arms and assault rifles.
After placing the third brick inside the backpack, Ripper zipped up the bag and was ready to go. The target of placement: The St. John’s Co-Cathedral.
Then to Cooper. “Put in a word to Hartlin for me, will you?” he said. “Tell him I want a piece of this guy. I want a piece of Hayden.”
“They’ll be other targeted killings,” said Cooper, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Besides, once the devices go off the port authorities will close down all the entry and exit points. You’re going nowhere.”
Ripper realized that Cooper was right. Malta would be caught up in a maelstrom of chaos and terror.
Still, like a dry mouth that needed to be quenched, he wanted a piece of Kimball Hayden just to prove to himself that he was bigger, meaner and badder. The target was lucky once, he told himself, but never twice, at least not with him.
A second PC unit chimed, one that was linked directly to Director Butrose’s encrypted line. It was a schematic, an architectural interior display of the St. John’s Co-Cathedral, though encrypted. Cooper typed in commands into the PC through the keyboard, the program deciphering symbols and ciphers with unbelievable speed, the image of the church coming up on screen. There were specific notations regarding new bomb placements, all for ‘maximum’ effect. Cooper examined the drawings, then confirmed the final placements with the operator of the sending IP, from the director, with the message received and understood.
“Change of plans,” Cooper said out loud.
Then from Ripper: “For?”
Cooper turned to the large man. “New points of detonation,” he told him. “All for ‘maximum’ effect.”
“Word from Langley?” asked Dill, the man standing.
Cooper nodded. “New points of detonation. Out of sight.” He handed the schematic to Ripper, who studied it briefly before turning his sight back to Cooper.
“This is going to take some time,” Ripper told him.
Cooper agreed. “You and Dill get a move on. This will be no easy task.”
Ripper looked to Dill, nodded his head in a way that said ‘let’s go,’ grabbed the backpack containing the explosives, and made their way to the St. John’s Co-Cathedral.
Chapter Forty-Three
Along the edges of the horizon, a lighter shade of darkness began to show. But dawn was still a ways off as Kimball stood outside the Excelsior Hotel. If Bates told him the truth, and Kimball believed that he was because the eyes of prey always read like fine print to him, then the SAD liquidation squad was prepping for ‘Operation Incite.’
The streets were already decorated with colorful streamers and flower-laden decorations. Hanging signs in English and Maltese noted the wonderfully religious aspects of the festival and the love of Catholicism, something Kimball once shared.
The only thing left to him now was the love of the hunt and self-preservation. To the victor goes the spoils, which, in this case, would be the last man standing. And Kimball had every belief that he would be the one ending up at the top of the food chain—or at least die trying.
He searched his perimeter and noted a CCTV camera by the hotel’s entryway.
He felt for the gun against the small of his back. Though it felt good to the touch, he missed his weapons of choice, his knives, because they never went dry or jammed. The caveat to using double-edged weaponry, however, was that he would have to be in close combat situations, which was not much of a problem at all since
he was one of the best in the world.
He stood within the shadows and felt its blanketing comfort and ability to cloak him in darkness. His breathing was even and measured, the pace of his heart normal. But at his core and inner depth, everything that gave him the sustenance of goodness and the measure of kindness, had melted away, leaving him ice-cold.
With confidence in his gait, Kimball walked to the camera and stood within the view of its lens. He knew the capabilities of the Special Activities Division, knew they were always watching, always alert. As long as VisageWare was combing through the masses looking for a certain person with certain facial landmarks, he would soon be discovered.
He was attempting to draw them away from the advantage of their Base Command and into the shadows. They would converge to his position, this he knew. Then Kimball would lead them to his vantage point.
And there he would slaughter them wholesale.
Chapter Forty-Four
Excelsior Hotel
The VisageWare alarm signaled on the PC, meaning that a confirmation had been made with a classification between ‘Highly Probable’ to ‘Match.’ In this case, the match was 100% conclusive.
Cooper put the full image on the screen and zoomed in. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered disbelievingly.
Others gathered around him.
“That’s Hayden.” Cooper keyed in more commands, causing the screen to fill up entirely of Kimball’s face.
“The guy never left the island,” said Maynard.
“No,” said Cooper. “He didn’t. And for the fact that he’s standing at the doorway of the Excelsior . . . means that he knows where we are.”
“Deveraux talked,” Santomango stated venomously as if betrayed. “He’s still alive.”
“Or was,” returned Cooper.
On screen, Kimball looked directly into the lens of the camera. And then he did something that was oddly peculiar before stepping out of the frame. He winked.
“That son of a bitch.” This time it was Maynard, who was holding an assault weapon in his hands. “He’s calling us out.”
Cooper agreed. “He’s not stupid. He’s here for a reason and you know it’s not good.” He tried different cameras from different angles, including the hotel’s interior lobby and outside areas close by. Kimball was a no show on any of them.
Cooper started to tap the buttons on the keyboard with a frustrated edge—with hard punches from his fingertips. Screen after screen was blank. “Where the hell are you?” he said more to himself.
“We’ll find him,” said Ripley.
But Cooper held up a halting hand. “That’s exactly what he wants us to do. He’s drawing us out in an attempt to neutralize the greater threat by diminishing our numbers. He’s an elite assassin who knows exactly what he’s doing. Never forget that.”
Cooper continued his search.
But Kimball Hayden was completely out of sight.
And Cooper thought to himself: How do you put a bullet in a man who maneuvers about like a fast-moving mist?
The search for their targeted killing went on.
#
Kimball had made his move.
Since someone had to be manning the computer hardware, he knew the troops would be called into play.
The battle fought, in the end, would be one of futility since they would continue to send man after man, killer after killer, until the job was done. They would be relentless and faceless and without remorse. But in the end he would make his statement with a final stand: I will take down every last one of you until my final breath.
This would be his statement to Senator Rhames just before Kimball put a well-placed bullet right between the man’s eyes, if given the opportunity.
I’m coming for you, Rhames.
And in my wake will be the bodies of those you send after me.
That’s my gift to you.
And it all begins here, in Malta, inside this gladiatorial arena.
Kimball waited deep the shadows knowing his enemies would come.
But dawn was not too far off, the darkness soon to forfeit its power to light.
Nevertheless, Kimball remained patient as most predators are before they make the kill.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Take the rear and side exits,” Cooper told his team. “Carry light.” Carry light was a term for suppressed handhelds like a Glock or a Sig, something that could be easily concealed. “Santomango and Rodgers as one team. Maynard and Ripley the other.” Then to Santomango. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Workable. But not great.”
“Can you go?”
Santomango nodded. “I can go.”
Cooper then addressed his unit. “All right, people, listen up. Earbuds in.”
Everybody fitted their pieces.
“Stay in constant communication. And I mean constant. If you pinpoint Hayden, then I want everyone to converge and isolate the target to an inescapable means. Do not allow him to separate you. This is key. And this is what he will try to do. Is this clear?”
His team either murmured to him an acknowledgement or shot him a thumbs up.
“He’s out there waiting and he may not be alone,” Cooper went on. “He will use the shadows to his advantage. Our advantage is that we’re unknowns to him. Follow the standard protocols and procedures, and all of you will be back in time to break open a bottle of champagne as we take a ringside seat to watch ‘Incite’ go off. Question?”
There were none, the practitioners knowing what was required of them in such a setting after committing themselves to similar missions.
Cooper nodded. “Godspeed.”
Santomango gave him a crooked, one-sided smile. “Keep that bottle of champagne chilled, will you? Be back in a few.”
Cooper wanted to say: Don’t get cocky. It’s that type of arrogance that kills most men. But he held back as he watched his team, all fully loaded, exit the room with bloodlust in their eyes.
The hunt was on.
Chapter Forty-Six
Dill had the skillset to pick a lock with a toothpick if he wanted to—at least this is what Ripper told himself while Dill expertly worked the picks in the keyhole of the door behind the St. John’s Co-Cathedral, the one that led directly into the transept chapel.
The door opened without a whining protest from its hinges, and closed just as silently. The chapel was dark. So both men used penlights as they moved from the transept chapel and into the chancel. The area was openly vast, the cathedral a magnificent structure as they stood upon the lifted tier of the altar that overlooked the nave.
Ripper placed the backpack on the floor, removed the diagram of the new placements given to him by Cooper, then looked upward at the rib-vaulted ceiling. Beams and supporting structures were balancing the maximum of the roof’s weight, along with the aid of clerestory wall and nave vaulting.
The placement points were high but strategically necessary for maximum effect. Senator Rhames didn’t just want a killing to advance his agenda, he wanted a complete massacre. Placing three explosives along the interiors where the clerestory wall met the nave vaulting, the explosive forces would weaken and compromise not only the major supports of the wall, but the ceiling as well. The cathedral would crumble and cave in, the ceiling and wall collapsing with tons of debris, coupled with the explosions, destroying the church and killing everyone inside, most likely several hundred. Rhames definitely wanted to make a statement with one shot, one chance, and one opportunity.
Ripper and Dill examined the best way to reach the plant points. In time, they came to the conclusion to work their way topside, finding staircases and narrow hallways used by caretakers and utility people. After analyzing the best location for the devices, where the flying buttresses outside the cathedral wall supported the rib vaulting inside the wall, Dill and Ripper peeled off the protective strips from the adhesive, and fixed the devices to the areas. All three had been committed to the interior wall between the vertical supports and the vault
ed ribbing, so that the detonation would drop the ceiling with its weight pulling the wall inward into the nave, crushing hundreds.
When the devices were set, Dill and Ripper left the cathedral as quietly as they entered.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Washington, D.C.
Soon after Kimball Hayden’s sighting, it wasn’t long before Senator Rhames, who was still at his D.C. estate, fielded a video feed from Cooper.
“He knows where we are,” Cooper told Rhames.
“How?”
“We’re assuming Deveraux, since they removed him from the vehicle and took him to a point unknown.”
“Then he must know everything, including my involvement. And your response to this?”
“We have the NOCs looking for him. A team of four.”
“And where’s Hayden right now?”
“Not sure. But he’s close.”
Rhames slammed a fist down against the desktop in his study. “That’s not good enough! You know what he’s doing, don’t you?”
Cooper nodded. “He’s calling us out.”
“You’re playing right into his hands!”
“Do we have a choice?”
Rhames calmed himself while mulling this over. In the end he guessed he didn’t. “Your team needs to be fully prepared,” he finally said.
“They are.”
“You have a game plan?”
“Always. Standard protocols and procedures,” he answered.
Through clenched teeth and with the heavy-set man becoming hot under the collar, he said, “There is nothing standard about Kimball Hayden. He’s proved that to you before with Daphne and Deveraux. Now he’s back and he’s back for a reason. He knows you’re hunting him. This time he’ll be ready. I need more than just standard on this.”