James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (24 page)

“Mohammad Kazi.” He nodded as he read the long record. “Okay, we’ve got rival Muslim gangbangers, probably looking for revenge on the other guys for shooting up their mosque,” said McKay into his radio. “Let’s get out here, use their vehicles for cover.”

The Lenco BearCat quickly emptied as McKay climbed out the passenger side. Silently his men rushed into position, lining up behind the row of Mercedes and BMWs belonging to the Muslim gang members.

“Everyone set,” he whispered into his mike. A string of affirmatives, and he lifted a megaphone to his lips.

“This is the Dearborn Police Department. You are surrounded. Lay down your weapons, and raise your hands, and you will not be harmed.”

They received the response he expected.

The gang members spun around and opened fire.

“Fire!” ordered McKay. Automatic weapons from either side of him opened fire for less than ten seconds, then stopped. McKay looked at the scene in front of him. All twenty plus of their opposition were down, some writhing on the ground, others not moving, likely to never move again. Further beyond, in front of the mosque, hands were raised as those who had first arrived took the opportunity to surrender. They were swarmed from both sides by the original officers, as the SWAT unit moved in to secure the Muslim gang they had just engaged.

“All secured!” yelled one of his men. He raised his radio. “Send in the ambulances. And the coroner.”

He strode toward the second scene as the last of the rival gang were handcuffed. “Situation?”

One of the men he recognized as Officer Mohammad Aman, walked up. “All secure now.”

“Casualties?”

Aman frowned. “We managed to rescue Hasni. But Zawadzki and Atkinson are dead.”

“Atkinson?”

“Yeah, he saved Hasni and a paramedic, then when Zawadzki bought it, he snapped and just jumped up, blazing away. He caught one in the neck after taking out a few of these bastards.”

McKay frowned, shaking his head. “Such a waste of a good man.”

Aman nodded, looking at the ground. “Yeah, well we had our differences, but when push came to shove, he did his job, and did it well.”

McKay eyed Aman, then said, carefully, “I guess that’s what ultimately matters. When the shit hits the fan, do you do the right thing?” Aman remained silent. “Where’re the bodies?”

Aman pointed to a group of cruisers. “Back there. We haven’t had time to move them yet.”

McKay slapped the man on the shoulder, then strode across the pavement to the heavily damaged cruisers.

Christ, this was a war zone.

His mind flashed to the news, and the reports of chaos across America and the world.

And this is only the beginning.

Behind the House of the Gardener

Vatican City

Two single shots, separated by what seemed like a mere second, cracked the night air and the gunfire was silenced. Reading felt himself hauled to his feet as the team pressed forward to the tree cover.

“Thanks, Overseer, how’s it look now?” Reading heard Dawson whisper.

Niner let go of Reading’s vest and raced ahead before he had a chance to thank him. They all stood huddled behind several large trees for a moment, Reading catching his breath along with Chaney, the Bravo Team scanning the area with their night vision equipment.

Dawson hurried back to Reading. “Time for the door to be opened. We’ll be there in two. Have them kill the lights if they can.” Reading pulled out his phone and Dawson grabbed him by the hand before he could flip it open. He snapped his finger at Stucco who stood nearby.

“Cover.”

Stucco nodded and pulled what looked like some sort of rain cover out of his utility belt, tightly folded. He tossed it to Dawson then returned his attention to watching their perimeter. Dawson unfolded the raingear rapidly. Reading took a knee, knowing exactly what was about to happen, and chastising himself for not realizing that the moment he flipped open his phone in this darkness, it would have been a beacon to all those around them.

The tarp was tossed over him, and he flipped open the phone, dialing Acton. It was answered immediately.

“Two minutes, try to kill the lights if you can.”

“Confirmed two minutes, kill the lights if we can. See you soon, buddy.”

He flipped the phone closed, then pushed the tarp aside, taking a deep breath as he freed himself from yet another claustrophobic situation.

What’s happening to me?

Chaney grabbed the tarp and began quickly folding it up.

“Just in case,” he whispered. Reading felt a slap on his back and noticed they were moving forward again. He followed Stucco, Chaney behind him, two more Bravo Team members covering their rear. They quickly raced forward, the trees providing excellent cover in the darkness. The team took a sharp turn to the left, and Reading followed, not sure where they were going, but hoping that the team knew. Within seconds they were huddled behind a stand of trees, looking at the back of the building Reading recognized as housing Giasson’s security team.

And the lights were still on.

“You told him about the lights?” asked Dawson, shuffling over to Reading’s position.

“Yes, maybe they don’t have control?”

“Doubtful.” Lights at one end of the building shut off. “Wait a minute.” Another set shutdown, as if the building were shutting down one fuse at a time. Suddenly they were cloaked in darkness.

A single light, what Reading took for a flashlight, flashed on and off three times in a doorway across the rear parking area. Dawson raised his light and returned the signal.

“Let’s go, low and fast.”

They all jumped to their feet and raced across the parking lot. As they neared, the doors were thrown open, then a burst of gunfire from their right caused them all to turn. Two of the Bravo Team, Reading couldn’t tell who, returned fire as they continued to run. Reading found himself slowing down, but a firm hand on the small of his back had him racing again. Two of the team entered the building, then Reading. He could still hear the gunfire outside, then it stopped. He turned to watch the rest of the team race in, then the doors were pulled shut and a team of Swiss Guards immediately set to securing the doors again.

“Welcome to the Vatican, gentlemen.”

Reading smiled as he recognized Acton’s voice.

“Jim! Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Isn’t that supposed to my line? You’re the one who just crossed half the city under fire.”

Acton gave his friend a hearty handshake, then proceeded to greet Chaney and the Bravo Team he knew only too well.

“M. Giasson wishes he could have been here to greet you, but he was shot in the shoulder and is still quite weak. He’d like to discuss your exit strategy, and he has a request.”

Dawson nodded.

“Lead the way.”

Outside the Southern Colonnade

Saint Peter’s Basilica, Rome, Italy

DC Vitale walked slowly toward the wall, watching the segments of ten foot high fencing pushed into place, secured together and to the existing waist-high fence already in place. The protesters were resisting, but continually pushed back with a blast of the water cannon. Vitale nodded with satisfaction, noting that everything was proceeding as per his orders, including the inclusion of small gaps large enough to squeeze a person through, every ten meters, now blocked by shield toting riot officers.

As he rounded the colonnade, he smiled, rotating his shoulder. The fencing along the exposed side of the square was almost in place, and two water cannons were keeping the crowds at bay until the work was completed. He continued to walk through the open area demarking the Italian/Vatican border, and rounded to the northern colonnade, inspecting the fencing.

With his hands on his hips, his shoulder still aching, his head bobbed.

“Very good, very good.”

As he returned to the center of the square he raised his radio. “This is DC Vitale. Status?”

“Stand by.”

Vitale’s eyes narrowed.
Stand by?

He felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned to see his second-in-command, Battista Riggio, standing beside him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Vitale smiled. “Getting a hands-on view?”

Riggio nodded. “Northern operation is complete and the officers not involved in transport have redeployed around the city. Southern operation is winding up, only a few hundred left, no real problems now. Two of our officers were wounded by gunfire, one dead, but you were there for that. Other than that incident, just a few injuries on both sides.” Riggio motioned with his chin at the last piece of fencing being positioned. “What about them?”

“Set up the propaganda machines.”

“Very Orwellian.”

“But it might thin out the herd a bit.”

“Speaking of—”

Vitale nodded. “Start the thinning out operation on the southern and northern colonnades now.”

Riggio bowed slightly and stepped away, raising his radio. “This is Riggio. Bring in the screens, begin thinning out operations on north and south colonnades.”

Vitale turned to see two flatbed trucks roar down Via della Conciliazione, toward the newly installed fence, then, about one hundred meters from the front gate, veer off to each side, the massive projection screens mounted on the flat beds already playing their pre-recorded messages, accompanied by loud speakers reading the messages, now exposed to the crowds.

“This is the Roma Polizia. All who surrender now, will be free to go home. Please approach any of the openings in the fencing, and an officer will assist you.”

This message was repeated in Italian, Arabic and English, over and over. Vitale wasn’t convinced it would work, but even if it influenced a few to cross the line, it was a few less they’d have to deal with later. As well, it allowed them to broadcast other messages. They were desperately trying to convince some of the Imams of the city to broadcast to those inside, and convince them to surrender.

This would take time.

Thirty thousand people, still fired up, will be hard to convince.

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office

Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City

“M. Giasson, good to meet you,” said Burt Dawson, extending his hand. Acton noticed Giasson’s returned handshake seemed weak, his hand falling limply to his lap after Dawson let go.

He looks like shit.

“Mario, are you okay?” asked Acton as he knelt in front of him, checking his IV bag. It was half full. “You’re not getting enough fluids.” Acton turned his head toward the door. “Medic!”

Seconds later the young medic they had met earlier darted in and rushed up to his boss. “You okay, sir?” he asked as he slid on his knees and opened his bag. He examined the IV bag, then the needle in Giasson’s arm. “You pulled your needle out, sir.” The medic reinserted the needle, and taped it in place more securely than last time. He held the bag up, looking for a place to hang it, when Niner grabbed a metal hanger off the coat stand in the corner, and unwrapped it. About a foot in he put a kink, then with his knife popped the top plug off the left side of the wheelchair’s back. He stuck the hanger in the hole, then bent it at the top, making a hook. He took the bag from the young medic, and hooked it on the hanger.

“There you go, makeshift IV hanger, integrated in the patient’s mode of transport, making it mobile,” explained the seasoned warrior, in probably the most serious tone Acton could recall the man ever using.

The young medic looked at the MacGyvered rig, and nodded appreciatively. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You were trained for peace, I was trained for war.”

The man frowned, looking at the Delta team standing in and around the office. “It seems like we’re in a war right now.”

“We are,” said Giasson, who already appeared to be getting a little color back.

“Agreed,” said Dawson who sat in the only vacant chair, the others occupied by Acton, Laura and Reading, with Chaney sitting on the edge of the desk. Acton saw Giasson glance at him occasionally, apparently annoyed, but too weak to do battle.

“What do you need from us?” asked Dawson.

Acton answered, leaving Giasson to continue gathering strength. He held up the metal case. “We need to get this into the hands of His Holiness.”

“Is that the scroll?”

Acton nodded.

“What’s so significant about it, that all of”—Dawson paused, as if searching for words, then tossed his hands in the air—“
this
is necessary.”

The archaeologist in Acton took over, and despite the horrors of the past day, he smiled. “It’s an ancient scroll that we’ve carbon dated to within about a hundred years, overlapping the time Mohammad was alive.”

“What, you’re saying this was written by their prophet?”

Acton shook his head. “No, Mohammad was illiterate, couldn’t read or write a word, which annoyed the angel Gabriel greatly if we’re to believe Mohammad.”

Dawson grunted.

“Okay, so what does it say?”

Acton opened the case and removed a file sitting on top of the sealed tube containing the scroll. “It says, ‘And when the sacred months have passed, then kill the polytheists, but only the polytheists, wherever you find them and capture them and besiege them and sit in wait for them at every place of ambush. But if they should repent, establish prayer, and give zakah, let them go on their way. Indeed, Allah is Forgiving and Merciful.’ And at the bottom, it says, ‘As recited to me by the Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon him’.”

Dawson’s eyebrows had inched up his forehead.

“That’s not right.” It was Atlas’ booming voice that interrupted the silence.

“What do you mean?” asked Niner.

“Well, I was raised Muslim, I guess I’m Muslim technically, but not a practicing Muslim. I’ve heard that verse many times, and what you read is wrong. It should be, ‘kill the polytheists wherever you find them’, not ‘kill the polytheists, and only the polytheists, wherever you find them.”