by Rick Jones
As the plane took off from Rome Fiumicino Airport, Jeremiah couldn’t wait for his team to exercise their particular skill sets.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
––––––––
“What are the terms with Firat Rashi?” asked the man in the shadows. He was sitting close to the window, a perfect profile of darkness against the lighted back- drop.
“There are conditions,” answered Hassan, “that can benefit the group as we recruit and build our forces.”
“You’re deflecting, Hassan. I asked you what the terms of the deal were.”
Hassan bowed his head. “Of course.” And then: “The terms are that Firat Rashi will take control of the transfer and monitor its movement through certain channels of his choosing. The funds will be converted to untraceable bitcoins, which will accumulate interest over time that will amount, with the estimated funds to be received by the Vatican, to be more than a few hundred thousand American dollars over the year. We can withdraw whatever amount we need from these accounts for a small fee.”
“And his percentage?”
“Twenty percent.”
The Shadowman surprisingly nodded at this. “So Firat Maloof wants full control of the money.”
“That’s why he’s called the Banker,” said Hassan.
“I know why he’s called the Banker,” the Shadowman retorted sharply. Then a moment later and much more calmly, he asked, “And this guarantee he speaks of?”
“Rashi said agencies like Interpol, the CIA, the Mossad and MI6 will be monitoring the transaction, along with Vatican Intelligence. He said he’ll divert their traces to other locations, until they lose the trail of the transaction entirely. The money will be safe.”
The Shadowman sighed, his profile still against the backdrop of the window. And then: “The terms are acceptable if what he says is true about the accrued interest. With that additional amount of money,” he said, “we can recruit and rebuild from the shadows within Damascus much quicker.”
“And once the transfer is completed, are we to release the Vatican Knights?” asked Hassan.
The Shadowman chortled at this before replying. “Are you serious, Hassan? Such men are too dangerous to let go. And such threats need to be put down. Once the transfer has been made and Firat takes control of the money’s movement, the Vatican Knights are to be summarily executed. Is this clear?”
Hassan bowed his head as a measure of respect. “It is.”
“They are to be shot while tethered by their bounds to the ceiling.”
“Understood.”
“Contact the Milan group as well,” the Shadowman added. “Once this is over, I want all trace evidence wiped away. I want the woman and her children killed.”
Another bow of Hassan’s head. “Right away,” he said.
Then the Shadowman stood up from his chair, ran his hands over the wrinkles of his clothing, and neared Hassan. When he entered the light, Hassan Maloof looked directly into the eyes of Cardinal Alnasseri.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
––––––––
Milan, Italy
Hours later, Jeremiah and his team of Vatican Knights were waiting inside an unmarked van that was parked within the triangulated area of calls that went directly to Cardinal Vicenza’s line in Vatican City. This particular region in Milan was predominately Muslim in demographics with men and women wearing hijabs, chadors and kufiyahs, and was the central location of activity with five nearby mosques.
The Vatican Knights checked their armor, their gear, spoke of schemes, and they prayed.
Then as the time wound down to zero hour, Jeremiah and his team of Vatican Knights waited for the code to launch an all-out assault.
* * *
Cardinal Vicenza was not alone in his apartment that overlooked the ruins of the House of Augustus. Several members of Vatican Intelligence were there as well, the team having set up a comm-center with state-of-the-art equipment that was directly linked to the equipment inside the SIV lab in Vatican City.
The room was quiet as the wall clock ticked off the seconds.
Twenty minutes and counting.
...19:59...
...19:58...
...19:57...
Life appeared to be moving at a glacial pace for the cardinal as he sat in a chair by the window watching tourists mill about the ruins taking photos on their iPhones.
...19:54...
...19:53...
...19:52...
Cardinal Vicenza sighed.
“It’ll be all right,” Father Essex informed him. “All you have to do, Cardinal, is keep whoever calls you online for ten seconds. That’s all we need. Ten seconds.”
In those ten seconds, computers would be registering the phone’s signal pinging off the surrounding cell towers. The closest towers would receive the first wave of pings as the signal spread out in concentric circles, bouncing off additional towers at different timing intervals depending upon the distance from the point of origin. Obviously the first ping would strike the closest tower of intercept to indicate the vicinity of the call. Then the triangulation would begin by determining the time strikes to each tower, so that the computer could compile and crunch data to determine the center-point of the signal’s concentric waves to within a distance of ten feet of the direct source.
The words ten seconds played over and over inside the cardinal’s head like an intonation, a haunting cadence of a voice that sounded distant and hollow.
...Ten seconds...
Then the cardinal gave a sidelong glance to the wall clock:
...19:25...
...19:24...
...19:23...
Time had never moved so slowly for Cardinal Vicenza.
* * *
Carmela Conti was pacing the floor to her cell wondering about her children. When the speculation of their welfare became too much for her to tolerate, she began to bang on the metal door with the heels of both hands, the woman crying out and asking for her children with her pleas falling on deaf ears.
With bruised and bloodied palms that had been cut by the sharp spurs of the metal door, Carmela went to her bunk, brought her knees up into acute angles so that she could rest her chin on top of them, wrapped her arms around her shins, and began to rock back and forth. Then the woman started to pray in Italian in an act of desperation of a mother suffering over the welfare of her children, and seeking comfort wherever she could find it.
But she found no solace.
She found no comfort.
Her children had been taken from her.
And now she was horribly alone.
In her cell, where the heat sweltered as if she was inside of a tin box, Carmela Conti screamed until she could scream no more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
––––––––
Damascus, Syria
As Jeremiah was setting up his team of Vatican Knights in Milan, Kimball was preparing himself inside the vicinity of the calls in Damascus, though the actual point of origination could still be kilometers from his position, which was most likely.
Even in Damascus where it was close to winter, the temperature was still 47 degrees. Even the desert got cold at this time of year, though it rarely fell to below 31 degrees. Nevertheless, Kimball’s bulky jacket appeared to be the norm on such a day as he waited within the mouth of an alleyway, the man blending perfectly with the surrounding shadows. The only thing that betrayed his existence at all was the soft-white vapors of his breathing, the clouds coming forward like exhaust from a dragon’s nostrils.
The clock was ticking down to zero moment.
The gear he wore appeared to be a part of him, with each firearm or weapon an appendage.
And Kimball felt good knowing that he was heavily armed.
As the plumes of his breath continued to betray his position within the shadows, no one seemed to care as they passed by the alleyway, with few realizing his presence at all.
So Kimball waited patiently, his b
ody unmoving. Timing was critical in this situation, he told himself, if not absolutely significant. As soon as Jeremiah started his invasion on the terrorist cell in Milan, Kimball would then hunt down and give Hassan Maloof and this man who sits within the shadows more than they bargained for.
Kimball looked at his watch as it ticked down to its final few minutes:
...6:48 ...
...6:47 ...
...6:46...
Kimball removed Sargon’s phone from his coat pocket. In under seven minutes, just after the cardinal received his call, Kimball would make a call of his own.
And the man who was considered to be one of the deadliest men to ever walk the planet, he could hardly wait for the approach of zero moment.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
––––––––
When the phone to the cardinal’s line rang two minutes later, Father Essex pointed to Cardinal Vicenza as if to say ‘you’re on.’ And then he raised both hands to display all ten fingers, meaning that they needed ten seconds to triangulate the caller’s position.
The cardinal picked up the phone. “Sì.” Yes.
“Tell me, priest, since time is running short. Has the council decided on a particular approach since we last spoke?”
The cardinal hesitated. Then: “My family?” he asked.
“Your family is fine. Now, has the council decided on a particular approach since we last spoke?”
“I need to know how my family is doing,” said Cardinal Vicenza. “Please allow me to speak—”
“If you interrupt me again, priest, I will kill them myself. Once the transaction has been made by the parties involved, only then will you be able to speak to your sister. This has been discussed before. It will not be discussed again. Now for the last time, has the Vatican council decided on a particular approach since we last spoke?”
The cardinal looked at Father Essex who was wearing headphones, and was given a thumbs-up. They had their ten seconds.
After the cardinal nodded, he returned to the conversation at hand. “No. Plans are in motion to forward the funds to your accounts as previously discussed. However, we need the account number to process the transaction.”
“That will come in time. And the Vatican Knights?”
“There will be no more teams,” lied the cardinal. “The Vatican does not want to chance another attempt.”
“Because if they did like before,” the terrorist stated on the other end, “they would fail.”
We’ll see, thought the cardinal. Then a moment later, he asked: “About my family—”
The caller hung up, the phone’s receiver now droning with the sound of a flatline. The cardinal hung up and looked at Father Essex as others moved with speed and efficiency to inform and advise other parties that the operations in Milan and
Damascus were about to commence. They had traced the source, which showed up as a pulsating dot on the screen of the laptop system situated inside the cardinal’s residence, the residence now a central comm-center linked to the SIV lab, and to Kimball’s iPhone and BGAN system.
People moved quickly by tapping information into keyboards to relay messages to other branches of Vatican Intelligence and to the field agents, which included Kimball Hayden.
The wheels were now in motion.
* * *
The terrorist cancelled the call with the cardinal and placed the burner on top of a crate that had an AK-47 resting on it. Grabbing the weapon, an associate who was sitting on another crate and holding his own weapon simply asked: “And?” “The cardinal has confirmed to me that the pope has decided not to respond with additional military forces, and that the transaction will go through as planned.”
His associate smiled at this. “Allahu Akbar,” he said. “It was meant to be.”
The caller—his name being Akmed—took a seat on top of the crate, grabbed the phone, and contacted Hassan, relaying to him the message from Cardinal Vicenza that the pontiff had decided, at least for now, that the transaction was going through and that the Vatican Knights would not be activated for a second mission.
“Of course, Hassan. The woman is to remain as leverage over the cardinal so that he continues to work for our interests. I understand.” Akmed listened, nodded, and listened some more. By the time the conversation ended, Akmed said, “Allahu Akbar.” Then he closed the call and left the phone on the crate beside him.
“I heard your conversation,” said his associate. “And I know the woman is to be leverage against the cardinal, as you say. But what happens after the money has been transferred?”
“The lesson is this,” said Akmed. “Once the transaction is made and we no longer need the woman, we’ll kill her. Thereafter, my young soldier, we’ll join our team in Damascus.”
“It’s a good time, isn’t it Akmed. We will rebuild and live to fight another day, yes?”
Akmed gave a half smile at this, something that appeared almost dreamlike as his eyes took on a faraway look, perhaps envisioning in his mind’s eye a world under one rule and one god. With his gaze still distant, he finally said: “And that day, Farook, begins today, yes?” Getting off the crate, Akmed started to walk down the aisle. “I’ll inform the others that the time is getting close.”
And Farook, a boy who was not quite a man at the age of sixteen, raised his weapon above his head and yelled: “Allahu Akbar!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
––––––––
Office of the SIV (Vatican Intelligence)
Vatican City
Father Auciello was overseeing his team inside the lab as computers worked on the specific coordinates to determine the absolute center of the signal’s con- centric waves. With the use of MIRA, which is a Supercomputer that has the peak performance of 8.6 petaflops and uses IBM’s BlueGene/Q platform with 786,000 core processors, quickly linked into the geospatial satellites to secure an accurate location to within three meters of the signal’s point of origin.
“Got it,” said one of the team’s techs, a Franciscan priest who was part of the SIV unit.
Father Auciello nodded. “Zoom in to the coordinates. Live satellite feed.”
“Yes, Father.”
The tech typed specific codes on the onscreen keyboard of his glass-top console. Moments later the satellite’s eye zoomed in on the location. A pulsating orb showed up on the screen that denoted the caller’s last known location as well.
“Address,” said Father Auciello.
More typing from the tech. After he hit the ‘ENTER’ button, the address to the pulsating dot on the screen showed up on the bottom. It belonged to a building fifty meters east of the Casa Delta Cultura Islamica, a mosque.
“Is it the mosque itself?” asked Father Auciello.
“Negative,” returned the tech. “It appears to be a storage facility.”
“Belonging to whom? I want the history of the building, ownership, and type of business. Is it a terrorist shell company? Is it legit? I want everything ASAP.”
The tech went to work searching for answers on all fronts. A moment later, after MIRA was able to tap into existing records, the building belonged to a man in Yemen with alleged ties to extremist factions that had yet to be proven. On another screen his photo and dossier surfaced on the monitor, the red flags attached to his listing detailed his purported ties to certain members of the Taliban and al-Qaeda.
But there was no mention of the Islamic State.
“The purpose of the business?” asked Father Auciello.
A single tap of the tech’s finger brought up data regarding the building’s purpose as a business entity, which was to serve as a warehouse to house items such as Korans, prayer rugs, and religious implements to be sold wholesale to Muslim stores throughout the world, with the Casa Delta Cultura Islamica serving as the administrative address. On the surface everything appeared legitimate. But due to the owner’s potential ties to terrorists, he was constantly under the surveillance of Interpol.
Then from
Father Auciello and with a sense of urgency, he said, “I need full- size schematics of the building.”
More typing, quick dashes of fingertips over the glass-top console.
On a third screen a three-dimensional model of the building came up in the form of lines and framework. It was a 20,000 square-foot building; 15,000 square feet of open area for the actual housing of goods on the first floor, and 5,000 square feet on the second floor, which were considered to be office space with multiple rooms.
“Rotate the image,” said Father Auciello.
The tech did by rolling a ball that was fixed on the console. He spun the ball as a means to spin the image on the screen in the direction that the ball was spun. If he rotated the ball to the left, the image on the screen turned to the left. To the right, then the image moved to the right. Whatever direction he spun the ball, so did the 3-D image on the monitor.
“Download all pertinent data including the schematics to Jeremiah’s tablet
...Tell him it’s a ‘go.’”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
––––––––
Damascus, Syria
The man called Cardinal Alnasseri fielded the call from his Milan faction who confirmed that Cardinal Vicenza acknowledged without a doubt that the pontiff had agreed to make payment in full; therefore, no additional calls would be necessary. The foundation for the transfer had been laid, now it was up to Cardinal Alnasseri to build upon it by proffering the account number to the bishops of the Holy See, with given instructions that they had a one-minute window of opportunity for the transaction. The cost of going over that time limit by one second would be grounds for the executions of Isaiah and Leviticus, and as far as the Vatican knew, the execution of Cardinal Alnasseri as well.