by Rick Jones
Kimball looked down at him, over him, feeling hollow.
The battle had been won but not his war. His war was being fought on another front—one he didn’t know about in Washington, D.C.
Kimball descended the stairway and knelt over Santomango’s broken body. Then he reached into the man’s ear, grabbed his bud, closed a fist around the device, then he left the retreat center.
For the moment his battle was here, in Malta.
And there were others he had to contend with.
Taking to the streets and out of camera view, Kimball Hayden was once again a man on a mission.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The streets of Valletta were filled with Mardi Gras-type gaiety. And the police were everywhere, especially after the sudden rash of unexplainable killings.
With so many people milling about, even with all the cameras, Kimball knew that the FRSP that Cooper was running would have a difficult time among the sea of faces. Nevertheless, he stayed within those pocketed areas out of the scope of the cameras’ sight.
In the streets of Valletta, pious statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mother became the centerpieces of homage as brass bands struck up chords and ground fireworks went off. People celebrated and prayed for future well wishes after kissing the tips of their fingers before rubbing them against the statues foundations.
Kimball looked at the Excelsior Hotel. Luxury at its greatest, with a seaside view on the backside.
With Santomango’s bud fitted into his ear, Kimball tapped the device.
“Where the hell have you been?” asked a voice. “Contact was not to be broken.”
“You must be the one they call Cooper,” said Kimball.
There was a pause.
Then: “Kimball Hayden.”
“Nice try on the hit,” he told him. “But I think it’s obligatory for me to tell you that your unit will no longer be active on any future operations, if you catch my meaning.”
“You liquidated the entire team?”
“Not the entire team,” said Kimball. “You’re still alive, Cooper. And so is Rhames. Right now I’m coming to get you.” Kimball tapped the button, removed the piece from his ear, dropped it to the ground, and mashed it against the surface.
His personal mission was far from over.
#
Cooper sat before the PC and its multiple screens of people moving about the streets, looking shell-shocked. His entire team had been liquidated, the worst one-day loss of Company operatives in the field.
Cooper immediately went to Skype mode on a secured line, the transmission reaching Washington, D.C. within fifteen seconds.
An image appeared on screen.
“Yes?”
It was Senator Rhames.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Washington, D.C.
Senator Rhames thought his heart was about to misfire inside his chest. “He’s but one man!” he hollered more out of fear than frustration.
Cooper appeared unmoved by the senator’s unsteady emotions. “Operation Incite is still a go,” he told Rhames. “The devices have been strategically placed per your devised arrangements. The mission against Hayden, however, is being aborted. The BGAN is coming down and the in-theater operation regarding the targeted killing is terminated.”
“No!”
“The judgment call is mine to make, Senator. And Operations will back me on this. Hayden is working his way to deal a killing blow to finish off what’s left of the team. There are only three of us. I have no idea what happened to Deveraux. Most likely dead, if Hayden was involved. But the point is this: the advantage now belongs to Hayden.”
“There are still three of you left.”
“We went after Kimball Hayden with two units of special forces. The Theater of Operation is no longer an arena we can use during the festival. Too many people to expose who we are. Hayden knows this and is using this to his advantage. And by the way, Hayden made it clear that he was going to finish off the job and come after me. Once done, then he’s coming for you.”
“I figured as much.”
“I’m not sure what you’re going to do.”
“What you’re going to do, Cooper, is finish the job,” the senator expressed with pointed emphasis. “Finish the order of the targeted killing.”
“That’s negative, Senator. The matter of the targeted killing has been terminated per my discretion due to the mission being compromised enough to become a severe threat to the team.”
“Cooper, everything begins and ends with me! You have no such orders to terminate. Do you understand me?”
“If you don’t like my terms, Senator, or the protocols outlined by my Base Command at Langley, then fire me and take it up with them.” Cooper leaned forward as if to hit a switch. A moment later the feed between them was killed, the screen going dark.
“Cooper! . . . COOOOOPEEEER!”
The room went silent. The gun was still on his desktop.
Senator Rhames had never been so frightened in his entire life.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, D.C.
After CIA Director Butrose explained in full the missions at hand, which was the targeted killing of Kimball Hayden and Operation Incite, President Burroughs immediately dispatched a team of Secret Service agents to detain the director and placed an immediate call to Langley, where he was immediately put through to Hartlin.
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Mr. Hartlin, two matters. First, this targeted killing against Kimball Hayden is to cease and desist immediately, is that clear?”
“Mr. President, you do understand that he is a threat to national security for the information he knows. He’s on the same level as Snowden.”
“Hayden is an asset of the Vatican. Therefore, through an accord made with the Church, he will remain silent regarding the atrocities derived from a few. Is that understood, Mr. Hartlin?”
“Mr. President—”
Burroughs cut him off. “I’ve also been pouring over evidence that is more than overwhelming regarding Operation Incite. Are you helming the team in Malta regarding this situation? And keep in mind, Mr. Hartlin, of this: I know the answers to most of the questions I’m asking you. I just got off the phone with Director Butrose.”
Hartlin hesitated on his end. Then: “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Are you taking orders from Senator Rhames?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How deep is Incite?”
“The devices have been planted.”
Burroughs fought for calm. “I want those devices neutralized immediately. Do you understand me, Mr. Hartlin? Neutralized. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I want you in my office to give a deposition regarding your role in this operation, who ordered it, and why. Do not contact Senator Rhames or anyone else involved. That will be spelled out in your deposition.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Burroughs hit the END button on his speaker phone, and turned to Cardinal Calcagno and Father Auciello. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he told them. “Your man will be safe. And Incite will be terminated, I assure you.”
“The evidence is yours to utilize in the manner you see fit, to seek whatever justice that’s according to your laws. Our man will remain silent on such issues as he has for many years. The Vatican will see to this. But he has tried to distance himself from a past he no longer wishes to acknowledge, so I don’t believe he provides any threat at all to your government.”
“Thank you, Cardinal. Whatever misconducts have been committed, whether they be in the past or the present, as well as those who were involved in the maneuverings of such deeds, they will be dealt with to the fullest degree and measures required by law.”
“Thank you once again, Mr. President,” stated the cardinal smiling. “Pope John Paul the Third will be most pleased with the outcome of this session. And please let it be kno
wn that the Vatican appreciates the administration of the United States of being a true ally of the Vatican State.”
“We appreciate the sentiment.” Then jokingly, but not really: “We just have to ensure that our secured mainframes regarding national intel are not penetrable from outside threats.”
The cardinal offered his own smile. “Normally, Mr. President, we share information so such actions are never necessary. However, in this case, the information we were receiving was quite disconcerting, which made us question the facts. Unfortunately, these facts became true under the rogue direction of a United States senator which, we now know, acted beyond the parameters of his duties without the knowledge of certain principals.”
“Thank you again, Cardinal, and to you Father Auciello, for bringing these concerns to light. To think that hundreds could have died in Malta to promote an agenda is still mind reeling.”
“And that’s what allies do, Mr. President. We watch each other’s back. We communicate and resolve issues.”
“Thank God for that,” said the president.
“And Senator Rhames?”
“Again, Cardinal, it’ll be a process that—believe me—will be handled with delicate care.”
“I understand. But until our man is safe and the operation clearly aborted, Father Auciello and I will be staying at the archdiocese close by. We’ll be in constant contact with the Office of the SIV. Should pressing matters come up, Mr. President, we will contact you.”
When the session ended and well wishes expressed all around, and as soon as the Oval Office had been cleared with the exception of his advisors, President Burroughs made a single call to his head of security. He wanted an immediate sweep of the senators involved with the killing of Senator Cartwright years ago, whether they were active or not, as well as those involved in crafting Operation Incite, including those on his intel staff.
President Burroughs was doing his due diligence as a politician to clean house and tie up loose ends. As he did so, the explosive devices continued to tick off the minutes inside a church in Malta.
. . . 02:58:26 . . .
. . . 02:58:25 . . .
. . . 02:58:24 . . .
Chapter Fifty-Five
Valletta, Malta
Kimball recognized the large man but not his sidekick, a smaller man who looked lean and agile, just another soldier in sheep’s clothing.
The big man walked with a mild limp, a present from Kimball on their initial meeting inside the retreat center. Both were heading for the front doors of the Excelsior.
Kimball waded into the crowd, kept his head low, the masses going in every which direction, with the grain, against the grain, some unmoving to appreciate the statues. But it was all cover for Kimball who started to close the gap between them.
Ripper and Dill entered the lobby area of the hotel, crossed the highly glossed marble flooring, and stood before a bank of elevators. From behind a marble pillar, Kimball watched them while being mindful of the cameras in the lobby.
When the doors to the elevator opened and they got in, they were alone. So when the elevator stopped on the sixth level, Kimball knew the floor but not the room.
So he took the stairwell to the sixth floor.
Once there, he carefully opened the door to the hallway and peeked his head through.
Two maids were working the rooms from both ends of the corridor. Otherwise, everything was quiet. The large man and his companion were nowhere to be seen.
Kimball stepped into the hallway with his hand firmly on the grip of his weapon that was hidden beneath the shirt tail at the small of his back. When he reached the maid on the hotel’s north side, he asked her if she had seen a large man who walked with a limp.
She hadn’t. But she made mention that the girl at the other end may have.
And she did, telling Kimball that such a man and one other went into Room 611 around the bend of the hallway.
Kimball gave her a wink and a thank you, which brought a pretty smile to her young face, and made his way to the room.
A moment later he was standing in front of the door with the suppressed weapon in his hand. On the other side of the door he could hear voices, though muted. But one of those voices, for sure, he recognized as belonging to the big man from the retreat center, the voice having a deep bass to it.
Kimball had discovered his targets.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Washington, D.C.
Just before dawn broke, a knock came to the door of Senator Rhames. Two sharply dressed men wearing black stood on the porch. Behind them sitting in a driveway that curved in front of the estate was a black SUV.
“Mr. Senator,” one of them stated flatly. “Your presence is requested at the White House.”
“At such a time?” he questioned. “Has there been another terrorist attack on U.S. interests?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, sir. All I know is that President Burroughs is seeking you out for a private assembly.”
Things began to click in the senator’s mind.
It’s over, he told himself. President Burrough’s knows.
“If I can get my jacket,” he insisted.
“No, sir,” said the other. “You’re fine just the way you are.”
The senator looked at both men who had plastic features that betrayed nothing, poker faces. Then the senator conceded. He closed the door behind him, locked it, then he went to the SUV where he was aided inside the vehicle.
The trip to the White House was a silent one.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
St. John’s Co-Cathedral
Valletta, Malta
The Vatican Knights were inside the church looking for the explosive devices. But the information, however, didn’t prove true. There were no explosives attached to the underside of the altar or beneath the pews. In fact, they were nowhere to be found and their window of time was closing. People were beginning to come in to pray before the votive racks and light the candles before the service.
Leviticus, Isaiah and Job had exhausted their search by looking underneath every bench and behind the altar, including the areas of both transepts.
Nothing.
Mass was to begin in twenty-five minutes. And the explosives were set for fifteen minutes thereafter. People had come and gone from the church all morning. All unrecognizable faces that could have been members of the Special Activities Division or simple folk.
Leviticus pressed his earbud, reaching Jeremiah at the Base Center in Dingli.
“Go.”
“Bates was incorrect regarding the placement of the devices,” Leviticus stated as he stood on the elevated tier of the altar that overlooked the nave, alongside Isaiah and Job.
“Understood,” said Jeremiah. “Stand by.”
“Copy.”
#
Dingli Base
Jeremiah pushed himself away from the laptop and went to the center of the room where Bates and Deveraux were bound together back to back. Deveraux appeared tired and uncomfortable, his knee a bother. Bates simply looked terrified.
Jeremiah ignored Deveraux and spoke only to Bates. “The devices are not where you said they would be,” he told him. “And we don’t have the patience to play games. So where are they?”
Bates shrugged. “Beneath the altar and the pews,” was all he said.
“They’re not there,” the Vatican Knight repeated.
“Then one of two things,” said Bates. “Either the mission has been compromised and forfeited, which I doubt, or there has been a modification to the plan for a far greater measure of ‘maximum effect.’ It’s possible that the adjustment bureau altered plans for a higher kill rate.”
“In Langley?”
“Or higher.”
“Where could they be placed for a greater measure of ‘maximum effect’?”
“In the squares. By the statues. I don’t know. Could be anywhere.”
Jeremiah was beside himself. Then he tapped his earbud. “You get that? The
placements have been altered, presumably, for a greater measure of ‘maximum effect.’”
Leviticus: “Yeah. I hear you. Contact the SIV. See if they were able to pick up any chat regarding new locations of the placements. We’re running blind here and time is not on our side.”
“Copy.” Jeremiah signed off and stared at Bates, who turned away with a sheepish look. Jeremiah understood Kimball’s lack of patience when he questioned Deveraux and used the man’s weakness of his bad knee to extract information. Jeremiah, however, was a Vatican Knight who was corralled by certain principles, with the mining of information by tortuous means unacceptable, if not ungodly. But he knew that Kimball was the fulcrum between sinner and saint, a man who walked away from the Light instead of toward it. And rules, even those mandated by the church, rarely applied to him.
Sometimes, Jeremiah thought, you need to trick the devil to ride your back for the greater good. And that was why Kimball did what he did; always walking the Gray and skirting the shades between Darkness and Light in order to achieve the means, with the demons that constantly plagued him. Though Jeremiah was held back from performing such measures against the likes of Deveraux and Bates, he clearly understood Kimball’s motives for the things he did: Sometimes the devil had its purpose in the scheme of things.
Sometimes the devil was an ally.
Sometimes.
Jeremiah returned to the PC to contact the Office of the SIV in Vatican City.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Lab of the Image Analysis Unit
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
Special Services and those in military wardrobe—black fatigues, composites guards and helmets with convex face-shields—fanned across the lab of the Image Analysis Unit. A man by the name of Arthur Abington immediately dismissed the operators manning the consoles, and replaced them with team members who were nonaligned with Senator Rhames, Hartlin or Butrose.