Pandora's Ark

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

It was night. And the air surrounding Mount Damavand was glacially cold.

Kimball Hayden stood at the edge of the precipice that overlooked the valley that separated his team of twelve from the ridgeline of the facility, a distance of two clicks of open air space between them.

He immediately assembled his team and briefed them on their journey through Turkey. Then from there they took a Chinook to the neighboring mount where they disembarked at its base and hiked to their current position.

The Chinook remained at the debarkation point, the pilot waiting on Kimball’s order once the Quds were neutralized and the Ark firmly under his jurisdiction. Once the Semtex was mounted against the fuel cells, the chopper would then be dispatched to the extraction point where the Ark would then be loaded and the charges set off in calibration. The fuel cells going off like dominoes from left to right, the chopper lifting and veering north toward Turkey as the facility imploded into a ruin of gravel and dust and smoke. At least that was the plan.

Kimball stood at the edge looking through an NVG monocular and calculated the downward distance of a thirty-percent grade until they reached their landing position by the fuel cells, which were located above the machine gun nests.

Through the lens of the monocular Kimball could clearly see the MG nests, two Quds to a nest. And then he calibrated the lens to zoom in on the terrain. He noted the fuel cells, the helipad, the lot for the trucks, scanning and sighting two Quds soldiers standing by the fuel cells conversing, the men rubbing their gloved hands together to stay warm. The problem was that they stood at the breach point, posing as a possible threat to compromise their approach. So he had little choice but to take them out during the fly run by gauging his targets through his gun sights and firing off quick taps to their heads. Not an easy task but doable.

He lowered the monocular and tucked it away in a side pocket of his glide suit. “Two clicks,” he said to Leviticus, “at thirty degrees on a downward slope. The breach points are north and south of the fuel cells, above the MG nests. Team A will head for the nest above the facility’s entrance and neutralize that post. Team B will work their way to the second nest located at the lower base and defuse the unit there. There are two guards posted by the fuel cells. I’ll approach them on the fly run and take them out systematically with kill shots. Should I miss during my run, then I’ll need you to follow up with their neutralization. So stay close.”

“Understood.”

Kimball pulled back from the edge and headed for his team. They stood as silhouettes against the brilliantly lit feature of the gibbous moon, waiting, a band of brothers who were at peace knowing that not all of them would return home alive on this night.

Kimball informed them of their mission, the locales of the MG nests, and the importance of a quick strike and an even quicker exit.

Once the team was apprised of their duties, once every man knew his place in the scheme of personal commitment, they geared for action.

Each man took his position along the edge of the rim, the sudden drop before them straight down and seemingly endless in the dark. They were wearing special jumpsuits called wingsuits, a garment which added surface area to the body in order to enable a significant increase in lift by adding fabric between the legs and under the arms like the expansive wings of a flying squirrel, the ensuing flight a horizontal one from points A to B, the shortest distance being a straight line. At flight’s end a parachute will deploy at a planned altitude and unzips the arm wings so that the person flying can reach up to the control toggles and fly to a normal parachute landing.

Kimball stood overlooking the ledge, then dropped his NVG goggles for his flight over the valley, the world suddenly becoming phosphorous green. He’d be gliding at more than sixty-miles-per hour, only to pull up during his deployment and drop silently into the compound. He would then take measure, and summarily dispatch the guards with calculated aim.

He checked his suppressor-fitted Heckler and Koch MP-5, which was attached to a belt festooning across his chest, and then charged his firearm, a Glock Smith & Wesson. After making an initial check that his combat fighting blades were securely fastened to his shin guards, he took a leap of faith and jumped from the ledge, spreading his arms and legs, his flight taking him toward the compound of the facility in a horizontal plane.

Leviticus soon followed. And then one by one the Vatican Knights jumped, each man leaping into open space until the wings of their suits caught a level plane of flight, and glided closer to battle at speeds nearing seventy-miles-per hour.

In less than two minutes Kimball had to peel back to slow his speed, the fabric fanning out and acting as aeronautical brakes, and deployed his chute. His descent was slow and quiet. And in the sights of his MP-5 he took careful and focused aim, the Quds totally unaware of his advancement, and pulled the trigger in quick succession.

Tap!… Tap!

The Quds went limp, their bodies falling boneless to the ground, apparently dead before their brains even registered the end of their lives.

Kimball landed evenly on the terrain, followed by Leviticus.

“Nice shooting,” Leviticus said as he pulled his chute closed before disengaging it.

But Kimball didn’t comment. The man was focused, intent, and in warrior mode. With Leviticus by his side they got down on a bended knee with their weapons held close, and watched the rest of the Vatican Knights drift lazily from the sky.

They hit the MG nest situated above the facility door first.

The team moved in quiet and catlike. The Quds soldier manning the Browning with his arms draped casually over the weapon while the other sat on top of the sandbags, speaking in Farsi in what seemed to be banter, the other man laughing as if he had just heard something humorous. Their complacency was their downfall; both men taken down and rendered unconscious, their wrists bound with flex cuffs.

The second team at the second MG nest was not as lucky. The Quds team was alert and responsive with their eyes cast forward with the point of the Browning poised to kill. Since the Knights had little opportunity to approach their position, they had no choice but to extinguish them with well-placed shots to neutralize the situation.

Within three minutes both nests were cleared and the landing secured. All that remained was to breach the facility and acquire the Ark. And they had to do it while fending off an elite force.

Kimball stood by the massive vault door leading into the facility and placed the flat of his palm against the cold steel.

His pulse began to race.

The firefight was about to begin.

At 1930 hours an order was mandated by the Prime Minister to initiate a sortie against an unchartered facility located in the Alborz Mountain region, most notably Mount Damavand. The precise coordinates were given and an aerial raid was to commence and end with the complete and total destruction of the facility.

No reason was given for the strike. And no questions were asked.

A dozen F-16I Israeli fighter jets were loaded with heavy payloads, the pilots instructed to terminate the target with such precision that it would take years for the dust to settle.

Lining up on the tarmac the planes took off in timed succession, approximately thirty seconds apart until all the jets were airborne and heading toward Mount Damavand.

In the Prime Minister’s office, as Netanyahu watched his monitor and saw the planes take off, he could sense the heaviness of an oncoming war settling over him like a pall.

The SIV, in collusion with the Turkish government, had set up a post on the Turkey side of the border less than five miles from the Iranian boundary line.

Father Essex was manning the Comm Center, a makeshift camp erected with canvas tents and expensive electronic equipment. The flaps blew wildly with the course of a brutal wind, the heat lamps doing little to abate the chill from his bones, as he monitored feeds coming from the SIV Center at the Vatican, which was helmed by Father Auciello.

Other SIV officials milled about, monitoring radar display screens and intercepted radio chat from the Ukraine to Iran to Israel to the United States, compiling detailed information as world events pressed on. One event in particular emerged from Israel. Apparently the powers that be had ordered an illegal incursion into Iran with the objective to take out a target located at the base of Mount Damavand.

Father Essex knew exactly what Israel’s intent was. Nor did he hesitate to act. He inquired another SIV operative as to the current location of the strike team in flight. The news was not good. When the coordinates were finally given, Father Essex put on his headgear, typed in a command to initiate communication, and spoke into his lip mike. “Romeo-One, this is Base Command. Do you copy?”

The pilot of the Chinook sat idle in the valley below, waiting, until he received word from Father Essex at the Vatican Base Command which was posted at the Turkey/Iranian border.

“Romeo-One, this is Base Command. Do you copy?”

The pilot spoke into his lip mike. “This is Romeo-One. Go ahead.”

“Romeo-One, you need to contact Team Leader Bravo and inform him that IDF has launched their eagles and are heading toward the precision point with an ETA of thirty minutes. Do you copy?”

The pilot looked at his synchronized watch. Thirty minutes? There wasn’t enough time for Kimball to pull off the mission, he considered. Not nearly enough.

“Base Command, do you want me to abort the mission and pull the team?”

“That’s negative, Romeo-One. You need to contact Team Leader Bravo and apprise him of the situation.”

“Copy that, Base Command… Out.”

The pilot shook his head. Those men, he knew, if they didn’t get out now, were as good as dead.

He tapped a button on his headgear. “Romeo-One to Team Leader Bravo. Come in, Team Leader Bravo…”

Kimball stood back from the vault when his ear bud went off. “Romeo-One to Team Leader Bravo. Come in, Team Leader Bravo…”

“This is Team Leader Bravo. Go ahead.”

“I just got word from Base Command that IDF has launched eagles and are bearing down with an ETA of thirty.”

Thirty minutes?

“Copy that, Romeo-One.”

“You want me to start evacuation process?”

“Negative. Stand by and wait for my command.”

“Copy that.”

Kimball appeared worried — something Leviticus never thought he’d see on the Vatican Knight’s face. So he had to ask. “What’s the matter?”

Kimball turned to him. “It appears that Israel is committing to a preemptive strike quicker than we planned.”

“You’re telling me that they’re in flight?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“How long?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“That’s cutting it close, Kimball.”

“I agree.” Kimball then walked toward Ezra — whose exclusive skill and purpose was setting explosive charges for maximum effect — with urgency to his gait. “Ezra, we need to get inside ASAP.”

Ezra sized up the door. “I can place explosives against the wall, which is approximately three-feet thick, the same as the door. It’ll take three, maybe four discharges before we breach the facility.”

“How long to set them off?”

“Ten minutes.”

“You have five. Get us in there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kimball fell back to access the situation only to be met by Leviticus, who grabbed him by the crook of the elbow and pulled him into close counsel. “We’re cutting it close, Kimball. I say we cut our losses and blow the facility before their jets rain down on us. At least we can keep Israel from committing themselves to a situation with serious ramifications.”

“We have thirty minutes,” he told him. “We can be well on our way to Turkey in twenty.”

Leviticus released him. “You do realize that the Quds aren’t exactly going to let us walk right in and take the Ark, right? You know that, don’t you?”

“Leviticus, this is what we’re all about. Is it not? Is this not why we are Vatican Knights?”

Leviticus stood motionless, considering, and then he nodded. “Twenty minutes,” he said.

“That’s all I ask. If we’re not in possession of the Ark by then, then we’ll bug out and destroy the facility.”

“Agreed.”

Both men turned toward Ezra who placed a packet of Semtex to the right of the door and against the stone wall. It was Ezra’s thought that blowing through concrete was the more expedient way than trying to breach the steel of the vault door.

“All right, boys,” he said, activating the detonator. “It’s time to make some noise.” And then: “Cover!”

Kimball looked at his watch: twenty-seven minutes to go. Do it!

Ezra pressed the command, setting off the Semtex. The explosion was massive as rock and debris went everywhere. When the dust settled a gaping hole the size of a small entryway was situated beside the vault door, the door itself was blackened and charred, but held nary a dent.

The team examined the break and saw that it blew inwards of nearly two feet. As far as Kimball could tell it was a great mining tool, but they were still outside the facility and time was running short.

Twenty-five minutes.

“One, maybe two more charges,” said Ezra. “But I’ll get us in.”

Kimball looked skyward, could almost hear the approaching jets.

No doubt the explosion alerted the Quds inside, causing them to side up in defense formation.

“How much Semtex you got left?” he asked.

“Two bundles.”

“Use them both as one discharge,” he told him.

“That’s a lot of power, sir.”

“Ezra, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Use them both. We’re running out of time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ezra worked quickly, piecing the explosives as a unit of one. Since Semtex was one of the most volatile explosives ever created, the blowout would be massive. After setting the charges, Ezra cautioned the team to fall way back.

Twenty-two minutes.

“Cover!” He pressed the button. The stone wall, the world, the ground beneath them, all shook with apocalyptic reverberations that seemed never-ending as cloying dust as thick as a London fog circled in lazy eddies, refusing to settle.

But through that fog they could see the light within the complex. The center had been breached.

“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!”

Kimball led the way with his MP-5 directed front and center, the mouth of the weapon’s barrel poised to kill. He easily breached the hole, which was massive, the force of the explosion blowing hot chunks of rock throughout the center with scalpel-like intensity, the energy of the blast causing the stones to act as shrapnel that destroyed everything in its path perforating the walls with numerous holes. If Quds forces had been standing at the end of the corridor waiting in defense, then they would have been cut down to pieces, their bodies’ most likely ending up as tangled masses of freshly sliced meat.

But no one was there.

The lab was empty.

The complex completely evacuated.

Whatever machines that once filled the center were now gone.

Kimball lowered his weapon, slowly, as if dismayed by his surroundings.

The entire facility had bugged out, leaving a minimal force behind for cosmetics. Most likely as an excuse to use their deaths against the sortie that was coming. Iran was bracing itself for war. And Israel was falling right into the spider’s web.

Eighteen minutes.

“There’s nothing here!” yelled Leviticus. “We have to go!”

“Check the facility for the Ark,” yelled Kimball. “We still have time. Just keep your head on a swivel, just in case!”

The Vatican Knights branched out, their weapons at eye level as they moved along the corridors clearing the way.

With the exception of a single broken monitor that was lying on its side, the lab was completely hollow. The only telltale sign that anything existed at all were the scuff marks along the tiled floor indicating that something of volume had once stood in its place. To the left was another chamber. And when Kimball entered he knew immediately that this was the chamber that housed the Ark of the Covenant.

And like everything else, it was gone.

“That’s it,” he finally said. “We’re done! Everybody out!”

The Knights quickly banded together, exited the facility, and raced for the high ground of the helipad.

Kimball spoke into his mike. “Romeo-One, this is Team Leader Bravo! Do you copy?”

“Copy, Team Leader Bravo.”

“Get that chopper to the extraction point now!”

“Copy!”

The jets were zeroing in on their target and less than fifteen minutes out.

In Tehran, as expected, they were picked up on radar, a blatant and illegal incursion into Iranian airspace which drew immediate condemnation from Iranian officials. In response Iran immediately sent their jets to retaliate, knowing full well that they were too far away to engage the enemy. But the retaliatory action was for cosmetics to show the world that Iran was well within its rights to protect itself as a sovereign country against the Zionist state of Israel.

Of course they demanded that the Israeli’s turn back.

And of course the demand went unheeded.

When the sortie team was less than ten minutes away from their strike point, the world once again erupted in a fiery blast that sent a mushroom flame high above Mount Damavand.

The two men at the MG nest were quickly gathered by Kimball’s team and ushered to the helipad. By the time they got there the Chinook was landing, the rotors kicking up a wash of dust. As the door opened, the Quds were tossed inside.

“What are you going to do with them?” asked the pilot.

“If we leave them here, they’ll die. We’ll let them go at the border,” said Kimball.

“And the Ark?”

Kimball nodded.

Once the rest of the team boarded, Kimball signaled to the pilot to get the bird going.

The rotors quickened, and then the chopper lifted, hovering, then banked and headed north toward Turkey.

“All right, Ezra!” Kimball had to yell over the thrumming of the blades. “Light her up!”

Ezra typed his fingers furiously against the touch screen of an iPhone, the last tap having emphasis. A signal was sent through cyberspace and the charges on the fuel cells went off in synchronized succession starting from left to right, the cells bursting like dominoes and sending a fiery plume skyward, the cavern collapsing upon itself. A concussion wave then moved through the air at a rate of speed faster that the chopper could travel, tossing it violently from side to side in seesaw fashion before the pilot was able to regain control. Once the Chinook was stabilized, they then headed for Turkey.

At the moment of the explosion two things happened: First, the Israeli sortie was ordered to return to base — the precision point of attack, for whatever reason, had been terminated for reasons unknown. Secondly, the Iranian leadership could not figure out why the facility destructed prematurely when the sortie was ten minutes out. So when the Israeli’s headed back, the Iranian government saved face by puffing out their chest and sent forth a declaration remarking that the sortie retreated due to the advancement of their own intercepting forces. Therefore, the Israeli’s did not want to confront a superior power.

Israel, of course, scoffed at this.

But in the end war was averted.

When the Chinook landed on the Turkish side of the border, and as the two Quds were ushered to an unknown point within the Comm Center camp, Kimball entered the tent where Father Essex sat behind the Comm console watching high-definition monitors.

Kimball grabbed his beret and tossed it roughly against the console in disappointment. “They bugged out,” he said. “They knew they were compromised, so they set up a neat little package to draw the fly to the honey,” he said tersely. “But they were expecting Israel to make a strike, not us.”

“It would have been the catalyst necessary to justify war,” said Father Essex casually. “Israel would have made accusations regarding weapons of mass destruction. And Ahmadinejad would have denied everything. So the mission wasn’t without its merits… Even if the Ark is still missing.”

Kimball took a seat as his anger rushed through him as quickly as the beat of his own pulse, hard and fast. In his heart he knew he was within reach, perhaps by hours, only for the Ark to slip through his fingers, most likely under the cover of darkness when the satellites were at their weakest point of visual perception.

Kimball then leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to relax. But he would not find the comfort necessary to pacify him until he returned to the Vatican on the following day.