Vatican Knights (18 page)

In homage Kimball held him for a long moment, somewhat
saddened by old memories, before laying the assassin gently to the floor. 

“You knew him?”

Without facing Shari, he answered her evenly. “At one time,”
he told her. After taking a deep breath, Kimball jerked the knife free from
Dark Lord’s body and sheathed the weapon.

Shari’s eyes took on the size of communion wafers.
Her
children!
Kimball had seen the same look many times before, just before he
killed his quarry. It was
the look
of abject terror, and of not knowing
as to what existed on the other side of life once he took away their final
breath. But this was a mother’s torment of not knowing if her children were
still alive. “Your daughters are fine,” he assured her. 

But her maternal instincts were not comforted. She ran to
her children’s bedroom and opened the door, allowing light from the hallway to
spill into the room. Her daughters were sleeping soundly, their chests rising
and falling in peaceful rhythm. Upon seeing this she instantly brought a hand
up to stymie a cry of gratitude, but failed as a tearful sob escaped her. When
she gained control of her emotions she turned to Kimball with the repose of
appreciation. “You saved my life, Mr. Hayden, and the lives of my family . . .
Thank you.”

Kimball took a position beside her at the door, his figure
casting a long shadow. “As I once told you, this is what I do. I save lives.
Now . . . are you willing to let me help you?”

Shari focused on the whiteness of the Roman collar, then on
the man. “Yes, Mr. Hayden, I will allow you to help me.”

A new alliance was born.

#

Isaiah was hiding
in the late
night shadows in front of the brownstone when he heard the sound of glass
breaking, and seeing a commando take flight through the window and land on the
roof of a parked car before hobbling away. A second commando quickly followed
through the front door and ran in the same direction, where they met a third
man standing within a grove of trees. Then they were gone, each man swallowed
by the darkness of the landscape.

#

The limping commando
was in
absolute agony, his adrenaline rush released as Judas guided him into the back
seat of his sedan parked beyond the copse of trees. With the commando pressing
his hands against the gash above his knee to stem the blood flow, he could
almost hear the panic bell going off in his head. The other commando fell into
the front seat and held his good hand against his torn bicep, his face going
pale as blood flowed between the gaps of his fingers.

“What happened in there?” asked Judas, putting the sedan in
gear. “Where the hell is Dark Lord?”

“This guy,” said the commando in the back seat. “This guy
came from nowhere and took us out like no other.”

 “And he was fast, too,” added the commando with the torn
bicep. “I mean, this guy was the best I ever saw with double-edged weapons.”

“I’ve never seen anything like him,” said the first
commando, shifting his weight to assuage the pain.

The commando with the torn bicep glanced into the distance
to assure no one followed. “This guy wore a priest’s collar,” he added.

Judas gave the man in the back seat an inquisitive look
through the rearview mirror. “He was wearing a what?”

“A Roman collar,” he said. “The guy was wearing a Roman
collar.”

Judas fought for calm. “What about the CD?”

“Didn’t get it . . . this guy came in just as Dark Lord was
about to take out Cohen.”

“You left the CD behind?” Judas brought a hand up and
massaged his temple with the calloused tips of his fingers. Yahweh wasn’t going
to like this.

Neither commando spoke, their eyes pinched against
excruciating pain.

Heaving a sigh, Judas ran a hand along his face as if to
wipe away his frustration. It didn’t work. ““What else can you tell me?” he
asked.

The commando with the injured leg repositioned himself in
the back seat. There was no way for him to get comfortable. “Dark Lord knew him
. . . called him by name . . . He called him something like Hayden . . . Yeah .
. . Kimball Hayden.”

Judas’s eyes shot to the rearview mirror. “Are you sure
about that?”

“I’m positive.”

Judas stopped the sedan in its tracks, tires skidding along
the dry plane. The sudden lurch of the vehicle stopping caused both men to cry
out in pain. “Are you sure he said
that
name? He said Kimball Hayden?”

“How many Kimball Hayden’s can there be?”

Judas looked back to the area where they had just come from.
The lights from the brownstone seemed so far away.
Kimball Hayden: a name
synonymous with the art of killing, a man without conscience or remorse
. He
heard the name many times during his tenure within White House circles. He’d
even seen the man on many occasions but dared not speak to him, afraid that the
wrong look, the wrong word, might have been his last since the man’s brutality
had levitated him to legendary status, whereas his reputation was as
intimidating as his size.

Judas pressed softly on the accelerator and the sedan began
to roll.

But you’re supposed to be dead, Hayden
.

Now the mystery of what happened to Dark Lord was a mystery
no longer. It was obvious to Judas he would never see him alive again.

 “That name means something to you?” asked the commando in
the rear seat.

 “A long time ago,” he said, “when soldiers became legends.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Washington, D.C.

September 26. Early Morning

“There were three men,” said Isaiah.
“One was waiting across the street hidden among the trees.”

“Which puts the count to a minimum of four,” said Kimball.
“Obviously he was maintaining watch.”

Kimball moved to the couch where Gary sat with an ice wrap
on his broken arm. Shari sat beside him, patting his forehead and jaw with a
damp cloth. The body of Dark Lord lay on the floor covered with a sheet.

“Ms. Cohen, if I may, I think it would be best that your
family be taken out of harm’s way as soon as possible,” said Kimball.

 “I agree.” She pointed to Gary. “Perhaps to his mother’s
home in California—”

“No, ma’am. If your attackers are who I think they are, then
you’ll only place them in jeopardy as well. These people will stop at nothing
to gain whatever it is they want.”

“I don’t have anything.”

“Obviously you do.”

“Then where would my family go?”

“To the archdiocese,” said Isaiah. “Your husband will be
treated for his injuries, and your children will be absolutely safe.”

Shari turned to Gary. “I’m sorry you’re in this mess, but I
think it best that you and the children are in a safe place.”

“You won‘t get no argument out of me,” he told her. He
turned to Kimball. “So when do we leave?”

“Isaiah will take you there as soon as you’re ready.”

“And what about you?” asked Gary, turning to his wife.

She looked at the contoured sheet stained with the dead
man’s blood. “I’ve got to find out why this happened.”

“Mr. Cohen, I don’t know why, but for some reason they’re
trying to kill your wife. And I believe the answer is here in this apartment.
Obviously she possesses threatening information of some kind.”

The bulb of enlightenment went off in Shari’s head as she
turned to the smashed PC. “And I think I know where.”

Kimball followed her gaze to the floor, at the computer.
Good
girl
, he thought.

#

With Gary and
the children
safely on their way to the archdiocese, Kimball lifted the PC back to the
tabletop and strengthened his alliance with Shari by telling her untold
secrets.

“His name was Shady Tippet,” he said, examining the crack in
the casing. “He was somebody I used to work with a long time ago.”

“Worked with? Where?”

Kimball gave a sidelong glance to Dark Lord, and then turned
away. “With the government,” he replied. “And should the truth be told, The
White House.”

“The White House! Doing what exactly?”

He knew she was pressing him for as much information as
possible, which was fine. Brutal honesty, regardless of its content, was the
first step toward trust. “We were assassins,” he told her, “working
specifically under the orders of the White House, most notably the president.”

Shari remained quiet, her mind theorizing, and then she
understood that Dark Lord, was sent to kill her by the most powerful man on
Earth.
But why?

Her voice began to shake. “Is he still . . .” And then her
words trailed.

“An assassin for the Force Elite? I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Is that what they’re called? The Force Elite.”

“They are.”

Kimball gave a brief synopsis of the history and development
of the Force, the nature of its existence and the targets involved, including a
statesman who posed a threat to a one-time incumbent during his term of office,
a political local.

Shari suddenly felt overwhelmed and had to fight back the
sting of tears. “How do I fight against something like this? How do I fight the
president of the United States? I can’t!” 

Kimball gently gripped the triceps of her left arm. His
voice was soft and soothing, his touch tender and supportive. “You
can
do
this,” he told her.  “You’ll never be alone in this. The Vatican is behind you.
And believe me; I don’t think the United States government will want to take on
the Roman Catholic Church. Do you?”

“But why? Why come after me?”

He released her arm and placed a hand on top of the PC. “I
guess that’s what we’re about to find out.”

#

A distant chime
, hardly
perceptible, the incessant ringing finally gaining strength and awakening
Pappandopolous from a dream that he forgot the moment he opened his eyes.
Slowly, and awkwardly, he grabbed the receiver and placed it against his ear.
The digital clock read 3:49 a.m. “What?”

“It’s Judas.”

Pappandopolous propped himself on his elbow. “This isn’t a
secured line. You should have waited until tomorrow.”

“Don’t be paranoid. Nobody’s tapping your line.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Shut up and listen,” he demanded. “Have you ever heard the
name Kimball Hayden?”

“No . . . never.”

“The name Kimball Hayden is synonymous with a ‘one-man
wrecking machine.’”       

“Why are you telling me this?” Pappandopolous lay back down
on the pillow.

“I’m telling you this because he just took out half of Omega
Team by himself . . . And Dark Lord is dead.”

Pappandopolous was back onto an elbow. “What about Cohen and
the disc?”

“She’s very much alive and still in possession of the CD.”

“Why is this Hayden guy in the picture anyway? Who is he?”

“He’s bad news.”

Pappandopolous sat up on the edge of the bed. The bottoms of
his feet touched the cold, hardwood floor. “Use whatever is left of Omega Team
to get that CD. And don’t fail me again, Judas. Managing the ground troops in
this matter is your responsibility.”

“I know my responsibility,” he stated defensively. “But
nobody expected Kimball Hayden to be involved.”

“How much of a problem can one man be?”

Judas shook his head. It must be nice to be stupid and
ignorant at the same time, he thought.
If you knew Kimball Hayden, then you
would know he was more than just one man.
“A lot,” he finally said.

Pappandopolous sighed in obvious frustration. “You know what
you have to do.” He stared briefly at the receiver before placing it back onto
its cradle. For the rest of the night sleep eluded him. He lay there wondering
why the cause was teetering on the balance, when it seemed to work without
deficiency on paper. The answer simply escaped him. He didn’t know the name
Kimball Hayden or the danger he presented.

Expelling a long, drawn out sigh, Pappandopolous picked up
the phone and dialed another unsecured line. “Mr. Obadiah? George
Pappandopolous. I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said. And then he began to
explain in earnest.

#

The PC was
cracked and not in
good shape. The monitor came on, but the unit did not fire up. Working his
knife blade into a seam on the computer case, Kimball was able to force the CD
tray from the plastic cabinet.

After extracting the CD, he held it up. “Bingo.”

Shari took the disc from Kimball. “I hope it’s not damaged,”
she said, sensing something of a loss. “Everything was on this CD.”

“What about backup files?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Whatever is sent to us by colluding
agencies is copied then deleted for fear that the information might be hacked
by foreign entities. This is the only hard copy available.”

“Isn’t it standard policy to make more than one copy?”

“If the information is classified and graded for high
level—always. And per protocol we did burn a backup CD that had been placed in
the vault. But it was either improperly burned or the disc was appropriated and
replaced with a bogus one. I’m not sure which. But when my people get a chance,
they’ll look into it.”

“Then re-contact the source.”

She shook her head. “I did. But Mossad resent the
information minus the encryptions,” she told him. “When I contacted their
director, I got nothing but excuses and denials. And since the original CD was not
classified as important due to it being labeled as dossiers, it wasn’t copied
since dossiers can be copied anytime. Mossad knew that when I contacted them.”
Shari looked at the disc. “This CD is unique, Kimball. Any information that
came with it may be lost.”         

Kimball laid a hand on the broken computer. “Is there any
way you can take information from what’s left on the PC?”

She surveyed the large hole broken into the side of the
machine. The circuit boards inside were clearly cracked. “Maybe, but I doubt
it.” She pointed to a circuit board inside the computer. “The memory board is
busted. All we can do is hope that the CD wasn’t damaged.”         

She fell back into the couch and tried to keep her chin from
quivering and her eyes from welling, but the stress became overpowering. In a
sudden mood shift that took her from being totally composed to a totally
fragile state of mind, Shari broke, which shocked Kimball.

“And what the hell are we going to do with him?” she said,
pointing to the body. “We can’t leave him here, you know!” And she quickly
cracked, almost without warning as her hands flew to her face.

Kimball was at a sudden loss. He was never one to provide
emotional comfort with a hug or cooing words. To him, showing emotion was
somehow a vulgar display. Nevertheless, he took the seat beside her. “Ms.
Cohen, I need you to be at your best,” he said. “I’ll take care of the body,
but we need to take care of business.”

She turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re
expecting
me
to conduct business as usual knowing that the most powerful
man on this planet has just sent his goon squad to kill me?”

“We’re only guessing that Shady Tippet
may
be from
the Force Elite,” he said. “This really doesn’t make sense since the president
wants you to find information regarding the Soldiers of Islam. So why send
somebody after you when you’re making progress? Because on one hand, we know
that the principal of Israeli’s Defense Attaché was resistant to your
efforts—at least to a degree—which may mean that he had more motive than
anybody else. But on the other hand, it doesn’t make sense that Shady would
leave the umbrella shield of the Force Elite to join a league attached to
Mossad. He wouldn’t work as a mercenary for foreign liaisons after fighting
against them for so many years.”

“So what you’re saying is you really don’t know where he
comes from?”

“I can only tell you where he
came
from. Right now
the pieces of the puzzle aren’t fitting properly. Maybe the Force Elite folded
or maybe the stove got too hot in the political kitchen for the White House to
keep it going, forcing him to apply his skills elsewhere.”

For a moment she said nothing, then, “I’m scared, Kimball.
I’m really scared.”

“I know,” he said. “The fear comes from not knowing who or what
is out there.”

She placed a hand on his forearm. “Have you ever been
afraid, Kimball? I mean,
really
afraid?”

Kimball appeared wounded by the question. “I’m afraid every
day of my life,” he admitted. “I barely sleep because I’m afraid of what I see
in my dreams. I’m afraid because of the horrible things I’ve done in the past.
And I’m afraid that on Judgment Day He’s going to turn me away . . . I’m afraid
of not knowing.”

She squeezed his forearm. “You’re a good man, Kimball
Hayden. Whatever darkness you inherited from your past is gone . . . I can see
the light in your eyes.”   

Kimball doubted her, but nodded his appreciation regardless.
“We can beat this,” he told her. “But I need you to keep on doing what the
president has asked.”

“Kimball, we’re right where we started. We’re at squat. The
information may be totally lost.” 

“Did you download the CD into the PC?”

“It was the first thing I did after putting the girls to
bed.”

“Then perhaps we’re not at squat after all,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He remembered the Logger placed to the circuitry by
Leviticus. “It means that an opportunity may still exist, after all.”

She gave him a dumbfounded stare.

#

Team Leader fumed
after
finding out that Omega Team failed in its task to remove the target. There was
no doubt Yahweh would be displeased. But even more so, his international
constituencies would grow increasingly uneasy knowing that slight bumps in the
road were forming into formidable knolls.

The name Kimball Hayden meant nothing to Team Leader. But
apparently it threw tremors into Judas. If this man Kimball Hayden posed a
threat to the cause, Team Leader would apply his own skill set as an elite
killer to take out Ms. Cohen’s champion.

Fail me one more time, Judas, and I’ll run my own blade
across your throat as testament to your repeated failures, so that everyone can
see that failing is not an option.

He turned the cargo truck onto the New Jersey Turnpike, his
anger lasting until he arrived in Boston.