The Iscariot Agenda

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“We were worried about you,” said Bonasero Vessucci. “You missed your contact mark.”

Kimball hesitated on the other end. And then solemnly, “He could have killed me, Bon. He had the opportunity.”

“But he didn’t.”

“That’s not the point,” he returned curtly. “I’m slipping. I was too fatigued to hang in there when I had to. I’m not a kid anymore. It’s getting harder to fight time.”

“Kimball, all that matters is that you’re alive—”

“You’re missing the point,” he said. “He killed Hawk and he could easily have killed me. I don’t think I can keep up with this guy, whoever he is.”

“Are you sure it’s just one?”

“I think so. The rain from last night washed away most of the prints. But I found a pair beneath a precipice approximately four hundred yards east of the ranch where the rain couldn’t get at, and again in the barn. Same set of prints from the same pair of boots — G.I. issue.”

“Government issue?”

“You got it.” Kimball walked by the corral, the appaloosas paying him no attention. “Look, Bon, you got to find me a team and quick. I need them. My old team is dropping around me.”

“The SIV is still searching. We’re trying to get a fix on them through GPS signals from their cell phones.”

“Any luck?”

“We may have found Job in Switzerland, close to Lake Lucerne. Joshua and Ezekiel are nowhere to be found.”

“What about Isaiah and Leviticus?”

“They’re still tied up with missions.”

Kimball sighed. “Bon, whoever this guy is — he’s a real pro. I’m starting to feel naked and lonely, if you catch my drift.”

“Trust me, Kimball. We’re not sitting idle on our end. We’ll assemble a team as soon as we can put one together. If we find Job before we find the others, then we’ll send him ASAP.”

“Job’s a good man. I’d feel better with him attached to my hip than those crazy brothers I have to track down.”

“They’re in Maryland, yes?”

“They are.”

“Then if we find Job, we’ll send him directly to the Sacred Heart s Church one mile east of the Washington Archdiocese.”

“I know where it’s at.”

“Then find the brothers and hold up. Having them is obviously better than being alone.”

“I agree. And, Bon, do whatever you can to find my team. I’m running out of time and friends.”

Although Kimball could not see him, Bonasero nodded agreement on his end. “I will.”

“Thanks.”

“And Kimball?”

Yeah.”

Another pause, then, “I’m sure you’ve heard the news by now.”

“What news?”

“About Amerigo.”

“No. I’ve been too busy trying to stay alive. Is he all right?”

“It’s not good news,” he said. “The pontiff’s ill — very, very ill.”

Kimball could tell by the heavy weight of the cardinal’s voice that the situation was dire. “What’s the matter?”

“He has cancer,” he stated. “Stage four… And it’s terminal.”

Kimball stopped in his tracks, his mouth slowly dropping, and let his hand holding the phone fall to his side. He could hear the cardinal talking, the voice coming through the receiver that sounded tinny and distant from half a world away. Slowly he brought the phone up. “I’m coming home,” he finally said.

“No! The pontiff has time. You need to find this assassin, Kimball. If you come home, then the assassin will surely follow you and bring the fight here. We cannot allow that under any circumstances.”

Kimball clenched his jaw, the muscles in the back working furiously. “Then assemble my team, Bon. Get them to the Sacred Hearts. In the meantime, I’ll take care of Hawk and be on my way to find the Brothers Grimm.”

“Who?”

“Just something we used to call them,” he said, and then ended the call by closing the lid of the phone.

Kimball was suddenly without sensation, his world suddenly disjointed like the random scatterings of a Pollock design, the kaleidoscopic pieces creating a surreal existence where life appeared to be spinning out of control: There was the assassin. The murders.

The game of sequential killings, the killer taking away everyone he knew.

And now the final curtain call of Pope Pius.

Kimball sat on a corral railing, the log bowing beneath his weight, and brought his hands up to cup his face. He had been bred to deal with combat and confrontations. And seeing friends die around him was a part of battle and war, something to be expected. What he was not prepared for was the hurtful emotion that swept through him regarding a man whom he had come to love — a man who saw in him the Light he did not see within himself.

So Kimball did something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

He wept for Pope Pius.

Kimball Hayden spent the better part of the morning digging two graves — one for Dog, one for Hawk — next to a towering cottonwood tree situated along the bank of a small reservoir less than a hundred yards away from the stables. The view was breathtaking. The saw-tooth mountain range to the west was a deep purple in the late afternoon shadows, the sky as blue as Jamaican waters, and the one cottonwood in the entire valley stood as a behemoth with a widespread canopy, provided a comforting shade over the graves.

Kimball leaned against the handle of the shovel looking over the two dirt mounds — one small, the other large — as a cool wind blew in from the northwest.

The leaves of the cottonwood began to sway in concert, first in one direction and then in the other. Everything seemed to be in peace where there was so much madness — a nice reprieve, even if it was just for a moment.

Kimball examined the landscape, knowing this is how Hawk would have wanted it — to be buried on the land of his people with his canine companion alongside him.

He made no crosses. He said no words.

The man who was ‘The Ghost’ was now with the spirits of his ancestors.

After returning the shovel to the barn, Kimball released the appaloosas, the horses taking flight as their hooves kicked up dust trails as they vanished somewhere close to the horizon.

The scene was beautifully majestic.

After gathering his items, Kimball left the ranch to begin the final leg of his journey.

He would find the brothers, engage the assassin, and hopefully come out the victor.

But if he failed in his endeavors, then he hoped to be buried somewhere as undisturbed as Hawk’s grave, a place that would provide him with the peace and serenity that had eluded him throughout his entire life.