by Rick Jones
. . . 3:12 . . .
. . . 3:11 . . .
. . . 3:10 . . .
Kimball then fell against the wall of the fieldstone well in defeat, his mind trying to process every possible advantage left to him.
If any.
He looked at the tube.
. . . 1:22 . . .
. . . 1:21 . . .
. . . 1:20 . . .
And Ezekiel continued to speak to him from the well.
Shut . . . up!
Time was running low.
. . . 0:48 . . .
. . . 0:47 . . .
. . . 0:46 . . .
He went to the edge of Ezekiel’s well and smiled down at him. “Hey, how you doing, buddy?”
Ezekiel flipped him the bird.
Kimball showed him the tube. “We don’t have much time left,” he said. “Just over have a minute.” He tossed the tube down to Ezekiel, who snatched it cleanly from the air. It read 0:31.
For the first time Kimball could see that Ezekiel had come to terms with his own mortality. Since he knew he was going to die, he placed the tube close to his chest and closed his eyes.
And he didn’t open them until he heard a scraping noise from above. Kimball had placed a cover over the well. But it didn’t matter since the well was not sealed or airtight. Kimball only did it to keep Ezekiel from tossing the tube out.
. . . 0:18 . . .
. . . 0:17 . . .
. . . 0:16 . . .
Kimball sat down and leaned his back against the wall of one of the wells. And waited. Running would be futile, he knew that. And Ezekiel was right when he said that the mystery of an afterlife actually existing would, in fact, no longer be a mystery within the next few seconds. He would get his answer.
Kimball closed his eyes.
. . . 0:02 . . .
. . . 0:01 . . .
. . . 0:00 . . .
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Inside an Abandoned Warehouse
Bet Dagan, Israel
When Yitzhak Paled came to, he couldn’t see much of the world because of the burlap sack that covered his head. When it was abruptly removed, his eyes began to focus.
He was inside an abandoned warehouse. The floor was vast, the area bare, with broken windows all around, and metal beams that served as perches for the pigeons.
In front of him sat the Patriarch, the director who reports directly to the Prime Minister. He was a soft-looking man with doughy features. His once stout physique had turned gelatinous over the years, with his abdomen and waistline now showing rings of additional weight. He did not look happy.
“Patriarch,” Yitzhak whispered, but it was more of self-confirmation that it was a question.
“Do you have any idea as to why you’re sitting in front of me—here, in this warehouse?”
Paled shook his head.
Behind him stood two Mossad operatives holding suppressor-fitted weapons.
“No. Why?”
The Patriarch picked up the nervous tension in Paled’s voice. “Then I would be amiss if I didn’t inform you, yes?”
When Paled didn’t answer, the Patriarch raised his hand. In it was a recorder. He pressed the ‘PLAY’ button.
PALED: Yes
EZEKIEL: It’s done. Abraham Obadiah has been terminated.
PALED: Excellent. Stay the course.
EZEKIEL: He was a good soldier.
PALED: At one time he was the best. But Abraham was beginning to lose his sense of judgment by doing what was best for him and not for us. But you, Ezekiel, are incredibly disciplined and an asset thus far. Obadiah was going offline far too much for the comfort of company administrators. He will be missed. And don’t worry about Rome, either. The forces there have been told to return since it was confirmed that you did not make the flight. So your path is clear.
EZEKIEL: Yes, sir.
PALED: Ezekiel, once you enter Vatican City, make sure that your image is caught on camera. We need to use that image of the Fourth Man as necessary proof to win global support against those who are against the sovereignty of our nation. Once the world realizes that the destruction of the city was brought on by the Fourth Man, who is presumed to be a terrorist, then there will be no turning back.
EZEKIEL: I understand.
PALED: I also wanted to let you know that half the funds you requested to complete the mission has been delivered to your account. The balance will be transferred when the mission is completed.
EZEKIEL: Thank you, sir.
PALED: Just keep us posted.
EZEKIEL: Yes, sir. I most certainly will since we’re talking about a lot of money here.
PALED: Your mercenary skills have been greatly appreciated, Ezekiel. Perhaps we could contact you for future operations?
END OF TRANSMISSION
The Patriarch shut off the digital recorder and lowered his hand. “You manipulated our concerns regarding Abraham Obadiah and mismanaged a mission that nearly jeopardized Israel’s position with our allies, most notably the United States. Do you really think that we wouldn’t find out your position in all this? You pointed an accusing finger at Obadiah, then you had him killed to keep the conspiracy safe. Then you used this Fourth Man to direct attention to a terrorist group. Do you have any idea what I had to do to appease our American constituency?”
Paled clenched his teeth. Ezekiel had recorded their conversation after he informed Yitzhak that he had terminated Abraham Obadiah. And then he forwarded the recording to the principals, putting Yitzhak within the crosshairs.
Ezekiel had made this personal.
“Now we’re working with terrorists?” asked the Patriarch.
“He’s not a terrorist. He was a covert op working deep undercover for Obadiah.”
“Really? Our American friends say otherwise.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
“And, of course, the only one who can verify this is the man you had killed. Abraham Obadiah.”
Yitzhak Paled began to look frantically about, realizing that his fate was hanging in the balance by the answers he gave. “I swear to you, I was using Obadiah’s covert to finish up a Mossad objective.”
“One we sanctioned with misleading information by you. We gave you incredible power, Yitzhak. But you abused it to a point that if you had succeeded, then you might have set the groundwork for a war that no one could have won.” The Patriarch leaned back in his seat, clasped his hands together, interlocked his fingers, and studied Yitzhak through a narrowed eye. “You’ve made mistakes, Yitzhak. Grave ones. We even went so far as to discover the transfer of funds to the account of this person known to be the Fourth Man, a terrorist.”
“Patriarch, please. I can make this right again.”
“No, Yitzhak. You can’t. This fourth man has already transferred the funds to another unknown account. That money is now lost to us. And should our American constituency find this out, then damage between us may be irreparable.”
“I was not consorting with a terrorist, Patriarch. You have to believe me. What I do, what I have always done, was for the good of Israel.”
The patriarch stood up and cast his eyes to the floor. The look on his face was one of deep sadness. “I’m afraid, Yitzhak, that what you did was inexcusable. And most assuredly, unforgivable.” Without saying another word, the Patriarch began to walk away as one of the two armed agents lifted his suppressor-fitted firearm, and took aim.
Yitzhak called after him. “Patriarch, please! What I’ve done has always been in the best interest of Israel! You have to believe me! Patriaaaaaarch—”
Although the patriarch never looked back, he knew that Yitzhak Paled’s life was over when he heard two soft rounds go off.
Above him, the pigeons took flight from their roost.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Excavation Site
Beneath Vatican City
It started as a soft buzzing in Ezekiel’s ears.
And then it progressed to something far worse.
<
br /> Every nerve ending, every filament that made up his nervous system, faltered.
He dropped the tube in the water.
The Omega Strain began to break down every component that was hard matter, liquefying him until his orifices began to leak internal juices. The ducts of his eyes, his ears, his nostrils, the openings of his anal and groin regions, all became leakages for blood and viscous fluids.
When his bones began to break down to particles of dust, he fell beneath the surface of the water since he longer had the support to hold him upright. He tried to cry out beneath the surface. But his lungs were quickly dissolving from the pathogen, liquefying and pressing out the last of the air through vocal-less cords with the final bubbles bursting on the surface.
As he lay at the bottom of the well, the water turned from black to deep crimson.
Beside his body, the timer-plate continued to flash a series of numbers repeatedly.
It kept flashing:
. . . 00:00 . . .
. . . 00:00 . . .
. . . 00:00 . .
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The Excavation Site
Beneath Vatican City
Kimball Hayden checked his watch.
The pathogen should have been released over a minute ago.
But he felt nothing. No effects, at all.
He got to his feet and examined the cover over the well, a simple piece of plywood cut specifically to fit the hole as a safety feature for those who chose not to be careful.
He removed the lid.
And looked into its depths.
The water was crimson red. And clothes floated lazily on top of the well water.
Ezekiel, or what was left of him, lay underneath as a gelatinous heap with a deflated arm drifting eerily about, as if beckoning Kimball to join him.
. . . Come with me down to the depths. Come with me and together we shall learn the answer regarding the mystery of life beyond life . . .
. . . Come with me . . .
Kimball turned his back to the well, sat on the ring of stones that surrounded it, and waited to die.
#
But Kimball didn’t die.
At least not yet.
He sat there waiting for the itch and burn of his skin, for his organs to liquefy. Then he raised his hands, examined them, and then turned them over, waiting to see if the bones beneath the skin were slowly turning to dust.
But they didn’t.
So he kept his back to the well. And from Ezekiel.
After assassinating Senator Cartwright, Kimball had allowed Ezekiel, then five years old, to live, which was against the directives. In time he had taken the young boy under his tutelage and groomed him to be a Vatican Knight. But the boy had grown to be sour, becoming something without compassion or conscience. And someone who killed and killed often with the cold fortitude of a machine.
He became what Kimball used to be.
He became something close to inhuman.
Whereas Kimball’s former lifestyle eventually led him to an epiphany, Ezekiel’s did not.
So he had become rabid and savage. And like anything rabid, it must eventually be put down.
Kimball looked at the dirt-packed ceiling overhead and sighed through his nostrils.
Then slowly, as slow as lava mud, something crept over him. So he closed his eyes as a great sadness completely enveloped him.
For a long time Ezekiel was to him as he was to Bonasero Vessucci. Whereas the pope eventually succeeded in bringing Kimball in from a life of darkness, Kimball had failed with Ezekiel.
He shook his head in self-disgust. I’m sorry to have failed you.
With his eyes still closed, Kimball took in a deep breath and released it through his nostrils with an equally long sigh. But the burden did not go away.
Having failed Ezekiel, then having to kill the monster he created, was another cross to bear and another guilt to carry for the rest of his life.
Kimball stood.
And he looked at his hands.
Blood did not seep from his palms like stigmata. And the bones did not break down into dust as if pulverized by hammer and nails.
The Omega Strain, for whatever reason, had bypassed him.
EPILOGUE
A Few Days Later
Water is a buffer for airborne pathogens. That was the consensus by leading virologists. The moment Ezekiel dropped the tube in the well, the water immobilized the strain since water—other than lacking the necessary oxygen to maintain activity—is not a conduit.
The moment Ezekiel slid beneath the surface, the pathogen quickly spread throughout his body and devoured the oxygen within the tissue. When that source was depleted, so was the strain. And without having the means to feed or to traverse distances to do so, it simply died off.
And that is why the city above the ruins was spared.
Even though people had been evacuated, it would not have been enough. And since earth is porous, the strain would have found a way and Ezekiel would have won the war.
Bonasero Vessucci, as most popes would do on such an occasion, had chalked it up to a divine miracle.
Kimball on the other hand, chalked it up to science.
#
In Las Vegas, Father Donavan received a substantial donation from the Vatican, as well as a bronze plaque in commemoration of Sister Abigail to be hung in a place of honor within Saint Viator’s. With the addition of statues and a beautiful fountain, this garden was renamed the "Sister Abigail Arboretum," a peaceful place in honor of a peaceful and beautiful person.
It was a fine display with riotous blooms of beautiful flowers as Father Donavan stood admiring the completed renovation.
And he thought about Seth, wondering what he was doing. Where he had gone. But as he looked over the arboretum, he somehow felt that Seth was there, in some way, having as much to do with this as the Vatican.
He smiled.
Thank you, Seth.
#
At the corner of Tropicana and the Las Vegas Strip, the Slim-Bar Thief stood at the corner soliciting for bills and loose change. Both of his arms were in slings. The large man from Saint Viator’s had spared his life, only to break his arm as a consequence for the life he was leading. Not for the wrong answer he gave him on that fateful day. Which was a blessing after seeing the carnage he left behind to those who lived in the Underground.
Those who lived had scattered to venues far from the haven of the Community, afraid of this demon should he decide to come back and finish off those he left behind.
But Slim-Bar knew different. He knew that this man had been sent to do what he was created for, divine or not, only to disappear and never be seen again.
And though he would start his own Community, Saint Viator’s will forever be off limits to him and his crew.
He had learned his lesson.
“Change for the poor. Change for the poor.”
In Carson City, a mother of four receives a heart transplant from an unknown donor. In time she becomes a nationally recognized advocate for abused women and children, and spearheads a national movement for the creation of multiple safe havens to be completely funded by the federal government for victims who have no other source of salvation.
In Albuquerque, New Mexico, a young boy receives a new liver, also from an unknown donor. And though his growth is severely stunted, he grows big enough to serve as a state senator before graduating to the U.S. Senate where he becomes a giant amongst his peers. In time he creates a bill to help ease the freefall of the American middle-class with numerous tax breaks that would eventually lift the middle-class from being the 29th richest in the world, to within the top ten.
#
In Tel Aviv, Yitzhak Paled’s body was laid to rest almost immediately after an alleged car accident, and buried next to the plot of Abraham Obadiah. After the ceremony that cherished the work 'of these fine men,’ the Prime Minister was on the phone to the president of the United States. In so many words the Prime Minister
condemned the two, claiming that they had acted on an accord not sanctioned by Mossad. The president, however, did not believe him. So in order to alleviate some of the tensions between the two countries, an agreement was made by the Prime Minister to return the strain over to CIA authorities, minus the missing vial, which they had no knowledge of its whereabouts. It was further agreed upon that plans would be put in place to deescalate the situation with Iran.
Sorties would not be flown.
And the potential for war in the Middle East had become nothing more than a bitter afterthought.
#
In Rome, Leviticus and Isaiah were resting comfortably at Gemelli Hospital. Leviticus had suffered a mild to moderate concussion and was there for observation, whereas Isaiah’s condition was much worse. Isaiah remained unconscious from a skull fracture with minor bleeding. But the prognosis was excellent. Isaiah should make a full recovery within the next few months without future drawbacks. And they would once again serve under the ranks of Kimball Hayden as his first lieutenants.
#
Pope Pius XIV seemed to move about with a new hitch in his step and a gleam in his eye. His surrogate son was back. And he was doing well.
Often he would sit behind his papal desk and pull the drawer open, only to see the soiled cleric’s collar that had watched Kimball through tough times. And then he would pick it up and rub his thumb and forefinger gingerly over the fabric, as if to wipe away the stains he knew would never go away, but had become a part of it since the tarnishes were too deeply embedded.
And every time he failed to wipe away the imperfections, he knew he would try again. So he would return the collar to its drawer, and try again another day.