by Sean Salazar
As he read the message, not sure what to make of it, he heard a sound outside the window. He turned his head and this time he knew exactly what it was—machine gun fire!
Chapter Twelve
The eight horses galloped straight onto the university property and split into two groups of four. The first group headed west and the second aimed straight onto campus, storming past and over parked cars. Students walking across the campus initially watched the galloping horses in awe. Several were almost run over, however, so many in close proximity scattered in fear, dropping their books and papers. The horses galloped past a short row of trees and when they passed the last tree, the machine guns came out.
Chris, a campus professor (who happened to be armed), was strolling across campus when he heard the screaming students. On instinct, he immediately jumped into action. He ran a speedy one hundred yards, dodging around cars when suddenly he skidded to a stop. “Armored knights on horses?” he exclaimed. “What the hell is this?”
His eyes immediately registered the situation and he assessed his surroundings. Students were running in all directions, but something was wrong. Not just the shocking fact that armored knights on horses were charging through campus, but they seemed to be armed. “Couldn’t be submachine guns,” he yelled out, unclipping and pulling out his concealed handgun. The knights were riding parallel to his position so he pivoted in their direction and began running on an intercept course. His Army training was kicking in and he was on pure adrenaline now. He leapt onto a car when he heard the clacking of a machine gun. Skidding, he rolled over, hitting the ground and taking cover behind the trunk. He could not tell if those shots were aimed in his direction or not. Suddenly, his question was answered. He clearly heard ping, ping, ping as the car he was using as cover was sparking as bullets hit it.
“That’s my ticket!” He popped to his knee and aimed his gun at the lead giant horse. He pulled the trigger three times, hitting the rider. The knight clearly felt the bullets hitting him. Why didn’t he fall? Chris had no idea. The giant horse slammed its hooves onto the hood of a parked car, crushing it as the knight aimed and fired at him. Chris flattened himself on the ground, avoiding the salvo of lead. Dirt and concrete sprayed up around him. He glanced hopelessly at his handgun, realizing that he was outgunned big time.
He almost found the situation funny that he was only recently thinking how mundane and relatively boring his days had become, and now of all things knights on horses were actually shooting at him! He sat up and backed up against the tire. Then, in a crouched position, he ran over to the next car. He peeked over the edge of the trunk and saw three of the horses run up the steps of the archaeology department. Why the hell are they going in there? He ducked back down just as a teenage girl crouched next to him. He slammed his hand on her head, shoving her to the ground. “Stay down.” He did not know the location of the fourth knight.
“Okay,” she said, frightened.
He leaned against the tire on the passenger’s side and tried to rationalize what was going on. The way the horse crushed that car meant that these horses were much bigger than normal, but why were they attacking students? He glanced back at the young girl, then at other students as they were running around in terror. Is this a terrorist attack? Whatever it was, he knew he was right in the middle of it. He’d have to sort it out later.
He scooted over to the front of the car in an attempt to get a bearing on the fourth knight. He saw him. He was running laterally to his position and Chris saw that the big knight moved way too fast for his size. He scooted around the bumper and took aim at the knight’s legs. He waited for the perfect shot and timed his breathing. The knight was running and looking side to side; most likely for who was shooting at him. Chris pulled the trigger, hitting him.
The knight skidded to a stop and the helmeted head turned and looked directly at him. That was when Chris noticed the enormous size of the knight and the red cross on his chest. Now Chris was in trouble and he knew it. The knight was charging in his direction which put him in a challenging position. He had just seconds to relocate or his number was up.
Chris had to decide what to do. He had to draw the fire away from the girl, which meant that he had to draw fire to himself. “Am I ready to rumble?” he whispered to himself. He glanced down at the girl and said, “Stay here,” and stood up, showing himself over the car. He gave the charging knight only a split second to get his aim and then he started running. The knight was still thirty yards away, and at that distance, machine guns were not as accurate. That is, unless these guys were soldiers, and by the way they moved, they probably were. He moved as fast as he could but the knight did not fire. Chris continued running, changing directions in an unpredictable zig-zag manner, just in case his pursuer decided to. He took cover behind a tree just as he heard gunfire. Peeking around the tree, he couldn’t believe what he saw. As the knight ran past the car, he shot the girl. “No way,” Chris cried out in disbelief. Soldiers don’t shoot unarmed civilians. He raised his gun, aiming directly at the knight’s metal helmet, and fired.
The bullets bounced off harmlessly and he ducked back around the tree. He saw one of the other knights run out of the archaeology building and begin circling around the back. What are they looking for? At that moment, he heard sirens in the distance. That meant that help was on the way. He knew the police had no idea what type of situation they would be running into. He glanced in the other direction and decided that was his last option. The corner of another building was fifteen yards from him. If he could make it, he would be safe.
If not, oh well.
Chris bolted out and ran as fast as he could, but this time the knight, being closer, fired. The bullets sprayed around him but he made it to the corner and ran down the side, jumping over bushes. He just made it to the edge before the other huge knight rounded the corner.
Two police cars screeched to a stop in his direction. He waved towards them as he ran, and the officers jumped out. He felt a wave of despair as the officers whipped out their handguns. There was no way they could hold off that knight with handguns. He saw their eyes light up as they noticed him waving at them. “Get bigger guns,” Chris yelled, but they didn’t hear him. He angled his momentum left so they could see the knight when he came around the corner. Without looking back, Chris knew by the shocked look on their faces that they had gotten sight of the knights.
Chris dove behind a bush and scampered behind a tree trunk just as the knight got a bearing on him and fired. The sound of bullets hitting metal, then yelling, and then silence. He knew what had just happened. The knight had killed the officers instantly which meant he would be focusing again on his original target... him.
Chris leaned his head around the tree trunk and looked under the bush. Both police officers were lying on the ground motionless. He realized that he was probably going to be dead any second. His adrenaline began to surge. It was plainly about survival now. Fighting this medieval knight was not an option, but he expected to feel bullets penetrating his body any second. Will he even feel it? Will he just die? Will his soul continue on, or will it be just blackness as his life ended? For the strangest reason, he thought about going to church. Church was about God and the afterlife...
He snapped out of it, and slowly placed his useless gun on the ground in a ceremonial sense. Then, rising up on one knee, he grabbed the gun off the ground, shutting out his un-Army like suicidal thoughts. If he was going to die, he was going down fighting. He took a deep breath, stood up, and looked around. He didn’t see the armed knight so he ran in the opposite direction, then remembered something.
Didn’t police cars have automatic weapons in their trunks? Chris turned and doubled his way back to the police car, ducking behind everything he could find as cover. He still did not know where the knights were. Staying low, he found himself by the driver’s side door of the police car. The two officers were lying on the ground in contorted positions, still holding their guns tight. Slowly, he opened the d
oor, reached in, and unlatched the trunk. He backed out, made his way to the rear of the car, and lifted the trunk a few inches. “Bingo,” he said, eyeing an AR-15, the civilian version of an M-16. It was not as powerful as an AK-74 but still had stopping power. He grabbed it and quickly found a loaded magazine. He loaded it, cocked it, and backed up, keeping his posture as low as possible. He eyed the dead officers again, noting they were both wearing wedding bands.
“It’s time for a little payback,” he said, welling up with anger. Only a second later, he saw the first knight. He was almost in patrol mode looking for a target. Apparently, the officers didn’t have a chance to call for backup since no more sirens were audible in the distance.
“Very well,” he said. He was on his own for now.
Chapter Thirteen
Chris pulled the charging handle on the AR-15 so that the bullet was chambered properly and right where it should be. He next had to call up his intensive training and reacquire his target—whatever that might be. It was time to go on the offensive, so he peeked over and under the car. The knight was a full fifty or so yards away with his back to him. Chris popped to his knee, then to his feet. Lining up the iron sights, he got his bearing on the knight and followed him for a few breaths. The takedown power of a .223 round was good, but what if the body armor was stronger than he thought? He didn’t want to blow his position on a shot that would only get a salvo or return fire. He might only get one chance at this, so he knelt back down. “Shit,” he said, attempting to get a grip on his trembling nerves.
In a crouched position, he ran to the closest building and dove behind a low set of concrete steps. Next, he ran down the opposite side of the building and stopped at the corner. He knelt down and carefully peeked around the edge. He saw the horses at attention next to the main entrance and one of the knights in the distance, near the rear of the archaeology building, rapidly walking away. What are these guys looking for? He leaned out a little farther and the other knight was walking in the direction of the horses, scanning both directions as he did. He now closed the distance by half, but was losing it as the knight moved away. He had to act now or not at all. He could simply turn and run, finish off his teaching career, and move on with his life.
“Nope,” he whispered. As former Army, he wasn’t wired to run; only attack and re-assess. Attack, reassess, reacquire, and reposition were his current orders to himself. If retreat was not in the advanced planning, then it was not an option.
He knelt down, raised the AR-15, and lined up his sights. The target was moving away, giving him a good shot of the back and the side. He chose the side because typically that would be where the armor was the weakest—at least he figured it would be.
Again he lined up his sights, timed his breathing, and pulled the trigger three times. The successive bangs echoed between the many buildings around him as he saw the knight jerk rapidly. Chris lowered the tip of the muzzle and saw his target pivot in his direction. He was certain that he had hit him. But he saw the reaction of the knight, which was not falling. How is he not falling...? “Okay, reassess, reassess, reassess,” he repeated quietly. At this angle, he had one more shot and could use the corner of the building for cover as he re-positioned.
He raised the muzzle again and aimed at the knight who was now running towards his position. Pop, pop, pop, he fired directly at the chest, groin area, and leg. He lowered the muzzle a degree and the knight was coming at him faster now. Now would be a good time to run. He ran along the building and paused at the opposite end. He had literally seconds before the knight reached the corner. The only thing he had going for him, maybe, was the weight and size of the knight, which should slow him down.
Just then, Chris could hear sirens in the distance. Lots of them. Finally. “Good,” he said, “backup is coming.”
He bolted to the next building. Once there he stopped, took cover behind another corner, and looked back. He waited for the knight to come around the corner. He continued watching and still nothing. Did the knights hear the sirens and retreat? Suddenly and violently, someone grabbed him from behind and lifted him directly off the ground. His body twisted as his gun was yanked from his hands and the first thing he saw in his contorted position was a close-up of the knight’s metal helmet. The thin slits for the eyes were deep and black. Chain link mixed with cloth covered the neck and massive shoulders. The man was a giant and Chris felt powerless against his grip. His feet dangled off the ground and he noticed he was being held in the air with one hand. For a brief moment, his captor seemed to examine him curiously like a bug. The chain-linked cloth traveled down the torso and the red cross on his chest looked like pictures of the Knights Templar Chris had seen in books. Any moment, he expected the knight to either shoot him or crush him. Either way, he was going to die.
Then, the unexpected happened. He lowered Chris to the ground and let go. He turned and walked away. In disbelief, Chris watched him walk off. The AR-15 was lying on the ground. “Why?” Chris said out loud. He then felt a shooting pain in his shoulder and upper ribs and found it hard to breathe. He needed to lie down. Once down, he realized that the giant hand that grabbed him had separated his shoulder and crushed his upper rib cage.
“Ah, shit,” he said laughing. Laughter was his way of coping with pain, but it also caused more shooting pains, so he gently lay flat on his back, and passed out.
Chapter Fourteen
Port south of Spain
With a completely expressionless face, Betty marched down the ramp, departing the ship in Gibraltar. She held her briefcase tightly, doing her best to appear inconspicuous. At the moment, she had no idea if she had triggered any alarms downloading the Vatican secret network, but she was not going to take any chances and kept moving. She knew very well that their adversaries apprehended agents when they slowed down to rest. She definitely was not going to do that.
Once off the ramp, she turned left and walked down the wooden dock, not entirely sure which way to go, but she did not want to appear lost. Reaching the end of the dock, she paused at the railing and peered out at the water, realizing now she had gone the wrong way. Why hadn’t she just followed everybody else?
She was lost.
After a few minutes of pretending that she was admiring the view, she turned around and headed back. When she made it to the other end of the dock she saw a cab and jumped in. She simply said, “Small café.”
Within five minutes, the driver stopped near what looked like several small cafés. She paid him and got out, still not sure which way to go. There were a few locals walking around so she did her best to blend in.
She reached an intersection that had quaint little cafés on each corner. Since it was still warm, most of the customers were sitting outside. She looked around, trying to figure out what to do next. Coming up with a plan to communicate with Ed as soon as possible was now her priority. She had to tread lightly because she had to assume that the Vatican would have a match on her computer and PDA electronic signatures; assuming they knew about her. Yes, she thought, they have to know about me.
Now that she had convinced herself that they would be hunting for her soon, other than simply staying alive she had to come up with a game plan. A plan of some sort was on her growing list of priorities. She walked straight to the closest café, found an open seat, and sat down. Virtually every table was filled with customers. The voices around her were loud and she could make out multiple languages, from Spanish to English to Russian.
The young male waiter noticed her right away and came over to take her order. She ordered a cup of coffee and whatever muffin he recommended. He departed and she placed her briefcase on her lap. She contemplated opening it and turning it on. But what would happen if the Vatican knew her electronic signatures? Would they be here waiting? If they could identify her immediately upon turning on her computer, how long would it take to find her location? She continued to contemplate the scenario as she waited.
Any second now, a sniper bullet could take h
er life. How would she know if a bullet entered her head? Would everything just go black? She looked around nervously for anybody suspicious, but succumbed to the reality that if a sniper did really intend to take her out, then it would be done, and she would not even know it. But, how would she even know she was dead? Would everything really just go black? On the other hand, would there be a flash of light? The more she dwelled on the possibility, the more she realized her foot was shaking.
Betty’s paranoia was now getting the better of her and she realized both her foot and leg were now shaking. She tried to control her breathing as the waiter brought her coffee and muffin. He placed the cup down and she reached for it; her hand began shaking as if she had Parkinson’s disease. “Oh, dear,” she said.
The waiter paused, seemingly caught off-guard by her apparent nervousness, and said something in Spanish. She did not understand what he said and simply replied, smiling, “Oh, it’s just nerves.”
He smiled, turned and re-entered the café.
That was embarrassing.
She glanced back into the café window and saw an antique-looking coffee roaster with silver pipes connected to it from above. Holding the cup with both hands, she took a sip of coffee, wondering if the café roasted their own coffee beans. Well, if they did, the coffee wasn’t that good. She put the cup down, spilling a little bit of it.
She breathed deeply, attempting to clear her mind. She rechecked her hand, which had calmed down considerably. She closed her eyes, thinking about the other important part of the message she had to get to Ed. What if she just turned the computer on and quickly sent the message? What if she did it as fast as she could? What if she did it so fast that no one would be able to get a fix on her location? She relaxed and slouched back, putting her briefcase on the small table. She wiped the top of the case, knowing that she might be fooling herself. She knew very well that the second she turned it on, her location would be automatically available to the Vatican at the speed of light. She knew this—but the message had to get out.