Vatican Knights

by Jones, Rick

  Shari snapped her vision between the rearview mirror and the road as she drove toward her mark. True to his word, Kimball kept a buffer zone between her Lexus and his van. Other than catching glimpses of his headlights in the long stretches between them, the roads were clear.

  “They know what we know,” she told him over the speaker phone. “If Alan’s a part of this, he’ll definitely inform the president.”

  “If the Force Elite aren’t there yet, then they’re certainly on their way.”

  “Any news from Leviticus?”

  “It’s all quiet on the ‘Western Front,’” he said. “But that’s to be expected. They won’t make themselves known until it’s time to do so.”

  Shari’s heart began to palpitate. Although a post-certified officer, she had never been a first-team responder, always arriving at the scene of the crime after the crime had been committed. But this was different. She was going right into the line of fire by placing herself within the crosshairs. Even the presence of Kimball Hayden did little to alleviate her fears. Every mile closer seemed to drive her heart rate faster.

  “Shari?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think it would be best that I come inside with you to assure your safety. The rest of the team is more than capable of taking on whatever comes their way on the outside.”

  An image of Gary entered her mind and left, only to return in a series of flashes and snippets of their intimate times together. She saw the moment when they made love for the first time in the back of his car, the seat too small but they made it work. She remembered the two of them picnicking on the bank of a river, feeding ducks, and the lingering kiss that followed. She recalled other good times, loving times—times that cemented their relationship that had over the years flourished rather than diminished, until recently.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she told him. “I think it’s better served that you command the first line of defense. I’m more than adequate at taking care of myself. Believe me, I’m ready for them.”

  “Shari, you don’t know what you’re up against.”

  She thought of Gary and felt confused. “I know exactly what I’m doing. So please, Kimball, please do it my way. I don’t think it would be a good idea to be—” She cut herself off, about to say alone with you but finished with “—in there knowing you weren’t out there watching over me.”

  She could hear Kimball’s audible sigh over the phone. “Be careful,” he told her.

  “I will.”

  For the rest of the trip she remained silent and tried to recapture those images of her husband that had cropped up in her mind earlier. But all she saw now was Kimball Hayden and the way he smiled, the way he carried himself or cocked his head when thinking about something—and the way he looked at her with those expressive eyes that told her how much he cared for her.

  Edgy and confused, she snapped off the cell phone and continued the drive, wondering if she was lying to herself about her feelings for Kimball. She prayed she was wrong, that she wasn’t slipping further away from Gary, whose gentle soul was overshadowed by a man who had made killing his vocation. During the remaining trip she prayed for truth. Perhaps, she thought, the lie in itself was the truth.

  She felt like crying.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  En route to the Governor’s Mansion

  Kimball and his team drove behind Shari, maintaining the buffer zone as her vehicle neared the governor’s mansion. The roads where dark with trees lining both sides of the road, the constant highway sentinels.

  From a distance of three-hundred feet, Leviticus was able to track Shari’s vehicle from his Comm monitor in the back of the van, her car lighting up on his screen as a red blip, a signal from the attached GPS system.

  As Shari drove up to the governor’s gate she noted Punch Murdock’s sedan parked to the side and the yellow DO-NOT-CROSS-TAPE he apparently ignored to gain access. The night, however, remained ominously silent as she left her vehicle and went to the gate. In the distance a single lamp was lit in the governor’s mansion. And she saw an image pass by the window. Even from this distance she could tell that it was Murdock.

  She opened her cell phone and dialed Kimball’s number.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Nowhere and everywhere.”

  More tersely: “Where are you?”

  “We have you in our sights,” he said. “You’re fine.”

  “There’s no one?”

  “No. You’re good.”

  She closed the phone, lifted the tape, passed through the slight opening of the gates, and headed toward the mansion.

  #

  In the rear of the van at the Comm Center Leviticus watched the video monitors, the sensitivity of the equipment able to pick up any visual or audio event within a defined perimeter around the mansion. Micah and Isaiah took up respective positions approximately one hundred meters to the northeast and southwest of the residence, placing the home within their vision at all times. Their shapes blended in so perfectly with the shadows that they didn’t even cast an outline of being blacker than black.

  They were the landscape.

  In the rear of the vehicle Leviticus continuously panned the micro-thermal imaging camera mounted on the roof, picking up Micah and Isaiah, and perhaps the occasional stray dog or nocturnal creature. So far the perimeter was clear. If the Force Elite was out there, they were a mist before the lenses. Without a doubt the attackers would be as much a part of the landscape as the shapes and shadows that harbored them.

  Maintaining vigilant surveillance, Leviticus panned the camera to all points of the compass, feeling confident the Knights were alone as Kimball and Nehemiah became one with the shadows as they headed for the trees.

  #

  As Shari ascended the stairway of the mansion, she felt a sudden chill crawl along her backside like a centipede inching its way up her spine, the sudden coldness causing the fine hairs on the back of her neck to rise.

  When she opened the door it did not whine or squeal on its hinges like a B-horror movie. In fact, it opened with the ease of a well-oiled machine. When she stood there looking up at the second-tier landing, she saw Murdock standing there looking down on her. He was a mere shape against the backlit of the bedroom light.

  “I saw you drive up,” he said. “You were quicker than I thought.”

  She took a step towards the stairway. “Did you find anything else?”

  He shook his head. “’Fraid not. It looks like the globe may be it. I just hope it means something to you.”

  She started to take the steps. “Let’s hope so.”

  #

  Omega Team watched silently from the shadows as they watched Shari park her vehicle and enter the mansion. With one eye on her, they kept a second eye on the van that was parked approximately 300 feet away from the governor’s gates.

  “Candidate One,” whispered Viper. “Do you have a lock?”

  “That’s affirmative. Target Red is in the castle,” confirmed Mamba. “It’s a go. Converge with senses open in the front and rear. She’s not alone.”

  “Copy that,” said Cobra.

  Omega Team moved with the furtiveness of serpents, scooting and crawling along the ground on their bellies in disciplined and patient fashion. They took to the dark shadows, often stopping and listening for anything alien or hostile. Once the terrain was judged clear, they moved on, constantly tightening the perimeter.

  What had been a recon line providing a wide view of the mansion was now closing to a point as the members of Omega Team converged on the residence. The members drew close to one another as they moved in from three directions, their weapons drawn, then stopping and sweeping the area, and then advancing once more in total silence.

  Once they were within thirty meters from the entry point, Omega Team hunkered down with the collective thought of a single mind—keep low and appraise the situation. Don’t move until the command is given. And
look for shadows, because if the shadow isn’t one of your own, then it’ll probably kill you.

  #

  “We have Tangos,” said Leviticus.

  “Where?” Kimball asked through his lip mike.

  “Three Tangos approximately thirty meters apart converging to the entry point. Each Tango proximity is to the north, northeast and northwest sector.”

  “Micah’s already in position. Isaiah, move in from the southwest sector and back him up. Nehemiah and I will come in from behind and flank them.”

  “Copy that,” said Isaiah, already on the move to provide a skirmish line.

  “If they’re thirty meters apart, then it’ll be man to man. Be careful that one Tango isn’t the bait while another lies in wait. Is that the case, Leviticus?”

  “That’s negative, sir. Each man stands alone, obviously appraising the situation.”

  “That means they’re expecting us, or at least somebody. We won’t disappoint.”

  Kimball and Nehemiah picked up the pace, knives drawn, bodies folded at the waist to maintain a low profile. With the aid of night vision goggles, they moved quickly through the darkness.

  “Status,” whispered Kimball on the trot.

  “They’re maintaining position. The defense forces are in position and waiting for the cavalry.”

  “Copy that. Do you see us in relationship to the Tangos?”

  “Affirmative. You’re approximately fifty meters southwest of the targets.”

  “Copy.”

  Kimball and Nehemiah made an abrupt northeast turn and headed in the direction of Omega Team to out flank them. When they were within thirty meters, Kimball broke toward the middle target. Nehemiah stayed the course and crept toward the commando at the northwest position.

  Omega Team waited.

  #

  “Candidate One and Two,” whispered Omega Team’s Mamba into his lip mike. “You have two hostiles moving in from the southeast. Each of you has been targeted and is drawing a one-on-one situation.”

  “Copy that,” said Viper. “What’s their twenty?”

  “Approximately twenty meters behind you and moving closer.”

  “Copy that . . . I don’t have a visual yet.”

  “They’re moving up on ten meters.”

  “Roger that,” confirmed Viper.

  “I’m closing the gap.” Mamba left his position and padded silently to intercept Kimball.

  In the north sector, Nehemiah was advancing on Viper. The Omega Team commando was almost drooling with anticipation as he quietly attached a noise suppressor to his carbine.

  Like drawing a fly to honey, he thought.

  #

  “We have movement,” said Leviticus. “Tango Three is moving toward the center position. Be careful, Kimball. You might have been made.”

  “Copy that.” Kimball hunkered down behind a gnarled hedge and withdrew a second knife.

  #

  “One hostile has stayed,” Mamba said into his mike. “I’m moving into position. The second hostile is still on the move.”

  “I see him,” whispered Viper. “It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  #

  Kimball hunkered low. Something wasn’t right. And then he gazed toward the dark form of Nehemiah who was almost on top of his target, his knife drawn.

  And then it occurred to him that Leviticus was right.

  They’d been made.

  #

  Viper moved in a fluid motion with the barrel of the carbine coming around and targeting Nehemiah. In rapid succession, muted bursts of gunfire lit up the night like a strobe light as bullets stitched across the chest and abdomen of Nehemiah’s Kevlar, pocking and pitting the material as the bullets’ impact drove Nehemiah back, but not to the ground until Viper found the objective of Nehemiah’s legs. Once Nehemiah went down he was severely crippled as he lay there bleeding, the knife no longer within his grasp, his agony sweeping. In a motion that was fleeting and graceful, Viper withdrew his blade and moved in for the kill.

  #

  Kimball saw starbursts of light from Nehemiah’s position and knew a firefight was on. From his position he could see Nehemiah being driven back, then to the ground. And in a scene that seemed somewhat disjointed with the slowness of a bad dream, Kimball could do nothing as he watched the commando withdraw his knife, pounce upon Nehemiah without mercy, and drive the blade across his throat.

  Kimball was beyond rage.

  #

  Mamba and Cobra met up with Kimball no more than ten meters away, each knowing their target was cognizant of their presence, and they to his. Once Viper wiped the bloodied blade against Nehemiah’s Kevlar, he began to converge on Kimball’s point.

  But Kimball was more than ready.

  #

  “Move! Move! Move!” Leviticus cried into his lip mike. With Isaiah and Micah moving into position to flank Omega Team from behind, Leviticus grabbed his HK XM8 that he had already broken down to the carbine style and exited the van to take position alongside the body of Nehemiah.

  #

  Viper was coming in from the right, and Cobra and Mamba were directly in front of him. With the point of his commando knife held between the tips of his thumb and forefinger, Kimball took aim, and with precision that had been honed by years of practice, let the weapon fly until it buried itself deep within Mamba’s throat. With an unnatural gurgle, Mamba drew his hand to his neck and fell to the ground like a rabbit.

  Cobra never saw the flight of the knife or heard the punch of the blade into Mamba’s esophagus, but realized that the man was dead when he reached down and felt the slick hilt of the knife sticking out from the base of Mamba’s throat.

  By the time he looked up, an immense shadow of a man stood over him. It was dark and foreboding, something that exuded dread like a slap. Then in an act too fast for Cobra to register, Kimball rendered the commando impotent with a single blow that sent him into eternal darkness.

  #

  Viper crept toward the mansion with all the prudence of a skilled assassin, fully aware that a combatant was to his fore and two others to his right. Immediately his instinct took over when he saw Mamba and Cobra lying within the brambles, the limbs of their bodies lying askew as if boneless, and then he dropped to a single knee, carbine raised, and surveyed the ground ahead of him. The area was eerily quiet, all shadows locked in place, the hostiles nowhere in sight. With caution he moved toward the mansion sighting nothing, his carbine sweeping the area as if on a swivel, all the time considering the hostiles to be as silent as the night since they had vanished like eddies of mist in a strong wind. But he knew they were watching, waiting, targeting; perhaps drawing a bead from no more than arm’s length away.

  Suddenly Viper felt the sharp point of a knife stabbing beneath the Kevlar and into his kidneys, followed by an intense burning sensation that swept across his lower back as the blade twisted and diced his entrails. With a feeble bark more out of surprise than in pain, he turned to view his killer, his carbine dropping to the ground. He looked into the man’s face but saw only shadows. When his eyes dropped to the starch whiteness of Kimball’s Roman collar, he thought God had forgiven him for his transgressions. Then with a gradual slowness like ice gliding along a hot surface, he slid downward along Kimball’s body and to the ground with his eyes burning their last embers of life.

  Now with the Force Elite eradicated and no one to question, Kimball was beside himself. He allowed his emotions to carry him to the point beyond reasoning, where killing was the panacea to quash his anger rather than to commit to the mission to capture the insurgents and mine them for information.

  In his dismay, as he wiped a hand vaguely over his face, he understood a single fact. It seemed all but certain the pope was going to die.

  #

  Shari managed the final step and stood before Murdock, who still leaned forward with his hands against the banister overlooking the foyer below.

  “Where’s the globe?”

  Withou
t looking at her he pointed his thumb in the direction of the governor’s room. “It’s on the dresser,” he said. “After I realized what it was I called you immediately. I haven’t touched it since, afraid that I might compromise the evidence.”

  She headed for the governor’s bedroom. “It’ll be all right.”

  He nodded. “I know it will.”

  When Shari stood in the room’s center and looked upon the dresser, she could have sworn that her heart misfired.

  There was no snow globe.

  Punch Murdock had lied.

  #

  Kimball stood in the shadows feeling regret like no other. Letting his emotions go the way he did only made him consider that he hadn’t changed at all, but became a throwback and killed with the cold fortitude of a machine, making him no different than the men who lay dead at his feet.

  “Nehemiah’s gone.” Leviticus’ confirmation was flat and spiritless, the voice of grieving.

  “And there’s no one left of the Tangos,” said Kimball. “I bear all responsibility for my actions.”

  “It’s not your fault, Kim—”

  “It is my fault!” he interceded angrily. And then more calmly as if he caught himself and tried to make amendments of change, said, “I was wrong. I gave way to emotion even though I knew we needed these people alive. And I’m the one who always teaches against losing control. Everything I base my experiences on is all about control and now we have nothing.” He stepped away and bowed his head in self-admonishment. Why, he asked, can’t I do anything right?

  #

  Punch Murdock stood in the doorway with the point of his weapon directed at Shari’s center of body mass. “I can’t really say that I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he told her. He then stepped into the room, his eyes on the pistol in her shoulder holster. “You scared a lot of people, Ms. Cohen. But now it’s all coming to an end.”