The Devil's Magician

by Rick Jones

  “Yes, Your Holiness.”

  Then the pope dismissed Cardinal Vicenza, who stood and kissed the pontiff’s ring.

  “And what will happen to me?” the cardinal asked.

  “You won’t be excommunicated, my friend, since you were coerced to work on behalf of a terrorist faction. However, you will be removed as a member of the Society of Seven and replaced. I cannot have a member who’s been compromised by an outside source sitting upon the church’s most guarded secrets. You need to understand this, Antonio.”

  With a crestfallen face, Cardinal Vicenza knew that the pope was correct. Once compromised or corrupted as expressed in the cannon laws of the Society, then removal from the ranks of the Seven is immediate without the process of jurisdictional proceedings to establish guilt or innocence of the matter in question. Here, the pontiff had dictatorial powers in the Society.

  “I know you’re wounded, my friend, about your dismissal. But canon law clearly states this. You know that.”

  The cardinal nodded. “I do.”

  “Then God be with you, Antonio. You’ll receive your new assignment within the week when this is over. And I promise you, it’ll be a country of comfort and warmth.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness.”

  When Cardinal Vicenza left the chamber escorted by the security team, the pontiff gestured for Fathers Essex and Auciello to take the seats before the papal desk. When they did, the pope asked, “Can you find the number on these records,” he said, “and pinpoint an exact location as to where these calls are coming from?”

  “To within ten feet,” answered Father Essex. “We can use all the calls to triangulate their position. However, if they moved—” The priest cut himself off and let his words hang.

  “Do it,” said the pontiff. “And their last call, still from the area surrounding the mosque?”

  “As far as we know. Yes.”

  “And the next call?”

  “If they’re following the same consistency, then the next call will be ten hours from now.”

  The pope nodded while thinking something over. Then: “Very good,” he finally said. “I’m going to send a team of Vatican Knights to Milan as a search-and-rescue team to extract Cardinal Vicenza’s family from their captors. It’ll be led by Jeremiah. They’ll already be close by when the call comes through. So once the location has been pinpointed and authenticated, I want the Vatican Knights to move and do what they do best.”

  “And if the site is compromised and word gets back to Hassan who’s watching over Leviticus, Isaiah and Cardinal Alnasseri that the hostages have been freed, it might push Hassan to kill them on the spot.”

  Pope John Paul III considered this as well. “Contact Kimball and let him know what’s going on,” he told them. “Let him know that everything’s been moved up and he needs to find them as soon as possible.”

  “Right away, Your Holiness.”

  As they left the pontiff’s chamber, a certain quiet fell—something that was disturbingly uncomfortable. Bouncing the tips of his fingers against his chin while he thought, Pope John Paul III wondered about Kimball. Would he follow the directives of the church in order to achieve the means, or would Kimball simply act out like a man who found comfort within the devil’s shadow and rule over those with cruelty.

  Right now you’re the fulcrum between sinner and saint, he thought, as if speaking to Kimball from afar. For the sake of your own soul, no matter how lost you feel right now, please see deep into yourself as others see you ...and choose wisely.

  Somehow, he knew Kimball would act as a man without a conscience.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ––––––––

  Damascus, Syria

  The moment Kimball reached his chamber deep beneath the Syriac Catholic Church and tossed the duffel bag on his cot, his iPhone pinged with a text message. Looking at its faceplate, he read: BGAN/IMPERATIVE MOVEMENT STAT. When Kimball saw this, he immediately realized that the information files sent by Vatican Intelligence was too large for the iPhone to decode, so he needed the BGAN system to interpret the incoming data.

  Climbing the winding staircase from a room just beyond the nave, Kimball took them two at a time until he reached the rooftop. Lifting the canvas tarp that covered the laptop system and setting it aside, it then took a minute for the system to find the geospatial satellites, and another minute for the files to download and decrypt. Once the named files appeared onscreen as small manila envelopes, Kimball opened the first folder, which regarded the current state of the mission. What it contained was a transcript of the pontiff’s discussion with Cardinal Vicenza, who was the inside informant who had been ferreted out as the contact for the Islamic State. No reasons were given as to why the cardinal betrayed his station within the Vatican. But at the bottom of the file marked in bold letters was an immediate declaration that the agenda for the current mission had been altered.

  Kimball typed in a specific code on the keyboard: HTTP25#VK//642. When he hit the ‘ENTER’ button, numbers and symbols began to scroll along the screen in rows, with the odd-numbered rows scrolling from top to bottom, and the even- numbered rows scrolling from bottom to top, the system decrypting a safe and se- cured pathway through cyberspace from Damascus to Vatican City.

  While some numbers froze and locked themselves in, others continued to roll to find the proper connection. And Kimball was becoming rather impatient during the process. “Come ooooon,” he said lightly, goading the system.

  More numbers locked as a Skype connection to the SIV lab was being established. Two minutes later, a secured line had been recognized. Fathers Essex and Auciello were standing on a platform in front of a segmented screen that showed multiple locations within Damascus.

  “Kimball,” it was Father Auciello. “The mission plan has been altered, as I’m sure you know by now.”

  “Because of Cardinal Vicenza?”

  Auciello nodded. “The cardinal was acting as the faction’s inside man because they abducted his sister and her two children. They were holding the balance of their lives in the cardinal’s hands; they lived if he cooperated, or they died if he didn’t.”

  “So he was coerced into being the informant for the Islamic State.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So why the change in the mission plan?”

  “Cardinal Vicenza has been receiving calls presumably from the abductors, who are asking for updates regarding the Vatican’s position in the hostage scenario, wanting to know if the Vatican is working behind the scenes to send in an- other unit of Vatican Knights, or if they plan to make good on their payment.”

  “So?”

  “We’ve been able to triangulate the calls that appear to be coming from a location close to a mosque in Milan. The exact location cannot be established until a new call comes in eight hours from now. By then Jeremiah will be in place in Milan to converge and lead a team to remove the faction and rescue the victims.”

  “Eight hours? You know what that means, don’t you?”

  On screen, Father Auciello nodded. “It means that your time, Kimball, has been limited to eight hours from the thirty-two you had left to see this through.”

  “You expect me to tie all this up in a neat little package within eight hours?”

  “Kimball, we don’t have a choice. The cardinal’s brother-in-law had already been murdered by these people and children are involved.”

  Kimball conceded because of the involvement of innocents, which included children. That was what the Vatican Knights were all about, saving and rescuing those who cannot help themselves. “Understood,” he said. “But for me to react accordingly, I need to know Hassan Maloof’s location. Were you able to track his number that was on Sargon’s phone?”

  “That’s negative, Kimball. The number was pinging all over the place in the north part of Damascus.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “But the range is three square miles. That’s a lot of territory to cover in eight
hours.”

  Kimball fumbled for Sargon’s phone in his pocket and brought up the contact list. A number was listed for a man by the name of Hassan, no last name. “If I dial this number,” Kimball said, “and it goes through to Hassan, he’ll see Sargon’s number come up on his caller ID. When he answers he’ll ask for a code to verify that the caller is actually Sargon, which I cannot give him. At that time he’ll know that the number has been compromised and he’ll destroy the phone and its transponder, killing the GPS mode. How much time do you need to lock into his position once the line is open?”

  “At least ten seconds.”

  Kimball gnawed his lower lip at this. “If you’re able to lock on and the GPS transponder is destroyed by Hassan, is there another way?”

  On screen, Father Essex nodded. “We already have the geospatial satellites in position,” he told him. “Once we get a lock on his position, then we can track Hassan and his team via eye-in-the-sky.”

  “How far away from my position are the congregation of calls to and from Hassan’s phone to Sargon’s, or vice-versa?”

  “About seven kilometers.”

  Kimball did a quick calculation: seven kilometers was just over four miles. “All you need is ten seconds to lock on?” Kimball asked them, needing one last confirmation.

  “Roughly,” answered father Essex. “The signal needs to ping off several towers before we can triangulate his position.”

  “And if you can’t lock on?”

  “If we can’t lock on, Kimball, and Hassan destroys the phone in order to disable the transponder, then most likely they’ll kill the hostages and move on.”

  Kimball sighed at this, seeing nothing but impossibilities. Then he had to call on his mantra to force calm: The word impossible doesn’t mean that it cannot be done, he thought, it only measures the degree of difficulty. In these words Kimball had always found a measure of optimism that nothing was out of reach, with the exception of the Light of Loving Spirits.

  Then from Kimball: “You said the strike in Milan is going to take place in eight hours?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then I need you to give me the coordinates of the last known calls between Sargon and Hassan. When the strike goes down in Milan, I’ll have to coordinate my strike against Hassan’s cell at the same time. If I strike too early and Hassan gets off a call to Milan saying that their mission has been compromised, then Cardinal Vicenza’s family will no doubt be executed. And if the Vatican Knights strike and someone on their end contacts Hassan and notifies him of the compromise, then Hassan will act accordingly and kill Isaiah, Leviticus and Cardinal Alnasseri. So the timing of the assaults have to be exact.”

  “I understand, Kimball,” said Father Auciello. “But how are you going to find Hassan’s cell? We haven’t been able to pinpoint his location?”

  Kimball looked at Sargon’s phone. “All you need is ten seconds, correct?”

  “To ping and triangulate a perfect position, yes.”

  “When the time comes eight hours from now, I’ll get you those ten seconds or close to it.”

  “Calling Hassan will be a risk, Kimball,” said Father Essex. “If Hassan even suspects that his position has been compromised, he may kill the hostages right then and there.”

  “Every mission has a risk, Father. And we don’t have a choice if Jeremiah’s strike team is going to take out the insurgents in Milan.”

  “Keep in mind, Kimball, all we need is ten seconds for the computer to triangulate the signals. Do whatever it is you have to do to keep him online.”

  “You’ll get it,” he told them. “Because there’s one thing we’re not taking into consideration in this entire equation.”

  “What’s that?” asked Auciello.

  “This man who sits in the shadows,” was all Kimball said. “I’ll contact you in eight hours when the time comes to act.”

  “Kimball—”

  But Kimball didn’t wait. He simply cut off the contact with the directors of the SIV by hitting the ‘DELETE’ button and brought up the file containing the schematics to Firat Rashi’s compound, and memorized in detail as much of the floor plans before he closed the lid of the laptop.

  Returning to his chamber and setting the weapons on his bunk, Kimball assessed the use of these weapons in his mind’s eye. There were his KA-BARs, his favorites and his weapons of choice that never goes dry like a firearm, or is in constant need to be fed magazines. And since Kimball Hayden was one of the best in the world with the use of double-edged knives in close combat, they were the first weapons he donned by sliding the blades into the riggings attached to his thighs.

  Then he examined the suppressed sidearm and the two Uzis, all with holders and straps. Then he counted the number of rounds, making sure that every bullet was counted for with every pull of the trigger. Not a single round, he confirmed to himself, would be wasted. Then he checked the phosphorous grenades, making sure that the pins were secured as well as the flashbangs. After that he put on his dragon-skin body armor, which was a type of ballistic vest with two-inch-wide circular discs that overlap one another like scale armor, and creates a flexible vest that allows a good range of motion and is intended to absorb a high number of hits compared with other military armor. These protective discs are composed of silicon carbide ceramic matrices and shields, which in comparison to other bullet- resistant vests, is far more consistent as a means of protection and more state-of- the-art.

  After putting on his straps, his holsters, and securing his 9 mm and dual pair of Uzis, he then grabbed his flashbangs and grenades. Kimball hid this bulk of weaponry under a khaki-colored coat mostly worn by American military. Missing was the cleric’s collar and the scarlet beret. Missing was the attire of the Vatican Knights, the black cleric’s shirt and military-styled pants and combat boots. Everything that once made Kimball Hayden a Vatican Knight was missing from his entirety, the man having stripped himself due to an inner conflict that had no resolution.

  After catching his reflection in the small mirror, he didn’t remotely look like the man he used to be—a man who once had the strong and angular lines of his face in full display that was now hidden beneath his beard, and cerulean blue eyes that once sparkled like sapphires that had diminished to a shade much dimmer.

  Who are you? Kimball asked the image.

  And when this is all over, what will you do?

  Nothing but silence as Kimball waited, as if expecting a response.

  But the image remained silent and uncooperative and refused to give Kimball an answer, especially one with hope.

  Then watching the shoulders of his reflection slump with the crookedness of an Indian’s bow, Kimball left this place of loneliness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ––––––––

  The Vatican Armory

  Vatican City

  When Leviticus and Isaiah were on missions, the command fell to the next in line which happened to be Jeremiah. He was a Brit who had been orphaned at the age of nine when his mother and father were killed in a terrorist bombing in London. By ten he was a ward of the foster system and eventually ended up at the Vatican under the recruitment of Bonasero Vessucci, a key member of the Society of Seven.

  His high intelligence was as reputable and equal as was his skill set as an athlete, both superior in every way. So when Bonasero took him in to develop these assets, he was surprised that he was also well-versed in the Bible, something his mother had wired into him since he was able to read the Psalms and recite to the point of word-by-word recollection.

  From there he was schooled and educated by the finest teachers, learning all the major philosophers and their values to heighten the awareness of logic, as well as to view everything from all sides before setting forth a final judgment. Then came the physical skill development, such as martial arts and the use of certain weaponry, all for the sake of protecting and defending, and all for the betterment of the handler who would soon have the choice to either become a
minister to share the philosophies of God and the Bible, or to become a soldier of God and help those who were unable to help themselves.

  Jeremiah chose the latter.

  But as well-prepared as Jeremiah was of body and mind, he was still human.

  After surviving the ambush in Damascus, he couldn’t hold back the awful wave of survivor’s guilt that washed over him. Though he saved Roman’s life and was able to extract him from the site, he couldn’t shake the image of Roman’s legs having been separated from his body and ghoulishly displayed close by like a pair of blood-soaked boots. Even as a soldier who had seen it all, the image continued to haunt him even as he closed his eyes.

  Now, less than two days later, there was another mission with ties to the first. This being a search-and-rescue operation in which he would not fail. But this time the theater of operation was in Milan, which was worlds away from Damascus.

  In the chamber of The Vatican Knights, a room just below the Basilica and whose walls were made of stones that appeared to be as old and ancient as medieval times, Jeremiah and his team of four Vatican Knights—Elijah, Joseph, Eleazar and Levi—were going over the preliminary plans.

  In two hours’ time the team of Vatican Knights were ready to depart for Milan and position themselves within the triangulated area of the cardinal’s calls. Once the location had been pinpointed to precision, then the Vatican Knights would respond according to the nature of their training.

  When the call came down to inform them that their transport was ready for Milan, the Vatican Knights geared up and headed to a van that was parked behind the Sacristy, where it then made its way past the Palace of the Holy Office and onto Viale Vaticano. From there, the vehicle made its way to the airport where they would pick up a private charter to Milan.

  On the way through the streets of Rome, Jeremiah couldn’t stop thinking about the ambush in Damascus or the savage stealing of Roman’s legs. Mission failure didn’t come often to the Vatican Knights, though it could happen if the Intel wasn’t precise. But this time he and his unit would be ready—the timing, the information, the element of surprise all working to benefit the team.