The Iscariot Agenda

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

During his time with the Vatican, Kimball had trained many. But training Joshua, Job and Ezekiel had been his favorites, almost remolding and reshaping arts of work into classics. Only he did so without the use of his hands, but by influencing them with psychology and schoolings, and with paternal direction encompassing body, mind and soul.

As children he recognized the fact that as children they had to engage in recreation. Often he would take them to the fields to play fútbol, only to top it off with a trip into Rome for gelato. They had always been high-spirited youths, happy. Joshua had always been the biggest and held the highest degree of machismo, always asserting himself with posturing to be first and foremost. Of the three Job was the most gregarious, always quick with a joke. But in the arena there was no question that he was the most competitive who possessed the need to win at all costs, even if that cost was personal sacrifice. Ezekiel was the workhorse who trained hours on end to be better, stronger and faster than the rest. Slow to develop, Kimball spent numerous hours with him so that the future Knight could exceed his own expectations. With indefatigable effort, Ezekiel fell and rose to every occasion, learning that success always came with struggle.

And now it had all come down as a horrible and final curtain call, Kimball thought. Two lives were gone and a third was about to be snuffed out, if he had his way.

On occasion, tours are offered into the depths of Necropolis. On this day, however, the ‘City of the Dead’ was quiet.

Kimball took the steps quietly, the Smith & Wesson firmly within his grasp.

Above him incandescent bulbs glowed feebly, making his intrusion less than stealthy.

At the bottom of the steps sat the Tomb of the Egyptians.

Kimball stopped and listened.

Nothing.

Another step downward, closer to the tomb, the point of his weapon directed to kill. Within meters he knew the assassin lay in wait.

And then he realized that he was the ‘T’ in Iscariot.

Within his vision he saw one of many sarcophaguses within the tomb. And then he saw the cardinal sitting beneath the ancient portrait of Horus, God of the Dead.

The Vatican Knight reestablished his grip on his firearm.

The owl-eyed cardinal remained still, but was not bound or gagged.

Kimball finally hit the landing to the Tomb of Egyptians.

And then from his left a Chinese star flew silently through the air with amazing precision and struck Kimball’s weapon, the firearm knocked from his hand and to the floor. In reaction he reached for the pistol.

“Don’t,” ordered a voice.

Kimball froze, knowing the lethal accuracy of the assassin’s ability.

“Well, well, well. Leave it to you to come to a knife fight with a gun,” the assassin said.

He stepped forward, from Kimball’s left, a Chinese star within his hand.

Kimball turned, his face a mask of controlled rage, and watched the assassin place the star within a secured pocket.

“You are, and will be, the ‘T’ in Iscariot,” he told him.

Kimball squared off with the assassin and clenched his fists at his sides. “I cared for you like a son,” he said.

Ezekiel made his way toward the cardinal with a feigned smile, his eyes cautiously fixed on Kimball. “The truth, Kimball, is that you only cared for yourself,” he stated evenly. “The only reason why I was chosen to be a Vatican Knight was so that you could pacify your feelings of guilt. Isn’t that so?”

“I gave you a chance!”

“At what? To serve you after you murdered my grandfather?”

“I gave you a chance!”

Ezekiel halted and stood his ground. His eyes focused on Kimball with a steely gaze. Then in manner that was calmly forced, he said, “You murdered my grandfather and left me without family.”

“Your grandfather went too far against forces he should not have opposed. He was becoming a threat to democracy.”

Ezekiel cocked his head. “A threat to democracy? My grandfather was democracy!”

Now it was Kimball’s turn to force calm. “Senator Cartwright became a wayward politician whose power grew too much for him to handle. He threatened senators and congressmen in both Houses with career-ending blackmail if they did not support his agendas deemed critically dangerous to the sovereignty of the United States.”

Ezekiel couldn’t help the surfacing smile. “And here you are,” he began, “standing before me as a Vatican Knight justifying the act of murder.”

“I was under orders by my superiors at the time to eliminate a valid threat.”

“So that makes it all right?”

Kimball hesitated. And then: “No… No, it doesn’t.”

Ezekiel began to pace once again, never turning his back on Kimball. “I was only six,” he said. “And I remember quite vividly when you entered the estate and killed my grandfather. I was hiding inside a cupboard, remember? And then I heard my grandfather say that he created you… and that the monster had finally returned to kill its creator. It was the last thing I heard my grandfather say before you opened the door to the cupboard. And it was then that I saw him lying against the desk with his throat cut. I’m sure you remember that moment, don’t you?”

Kimball did not answer, believing the question to be rhetorical.

“Instead of following through with protocol by eliminating me, you allowed me to live. And with some semblance of humanity you caressed my cheek as if to say that the murder of my grandfather would somehow pass into obscurity, and that all would be forgiven and forgotten.”

“You were just a child.”

“And as all children do, they grow to become men.” Then in a manner that resonated like admonishment, he said, “You should have killed me along with my grandfather, as you were ordered to do. Now your past has caught up with you, Kimball. And in your case, it has… I am now the monster who has returned to kill its creator. Just as you have betrayed my grandfather, I have now come back to betray you… I am your Judas Iscariot. And I will destroy you.”

Kimball began to pace with agitation and grace. “You can try,” he said.

Ezekiel matched Kimball’s actions, the men pacing in concert like mirror images.

“By failing to follow protocol and allowing me to live, it will cost you your life.”

“Ezekiel, maybe I failed you, granted. But I tried to give you what your grandfather obviously couldn’t give you, which was a good life.”

“And there we have it,” he said. “I was nothing more to you than a pet project to help appease whatever guilt you were feeling at the time.”

Kimball took on a quizzical look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Ezekiel. “I’m not stupid. I know about the two boys you killed in Iraq during an operation, and how that moment became an epiphany for you to seek salvation.”

Their pace quickened, each matching the others actions by moving to and fro like caged animals whose tensions were mounting with every pass.

“I recognized you immediately the moment you entered the boy’s home. I never forgot your face. In fact, I thought you came back to finish the job, until I saw the cardinal.”

“I wanted to help you,” he said.

“You wanted to save me because you were ridden with guilt! You didn’t want to help me! You wanted to save me because you couldn’t save those boys. And by saving me you were saving yourself! I was nothing more to you than someone who could fill that gaping hole in your life that was crammed full of despair and regret. I became your act of redemption! I became the child who could save you! Admit it!”

Kimball sighed. “Perhaps in the beginning, yes, I agree. But over time you became so much more, Ezekiel. Of the three, I became closer to you than I did with Job or Joshua.”

“You’re getting me all misty-eyed.”

“Look. I don’t expect you to forgive me, not after what I’ve done. But what you’ve done has exceeded any chance of salvation in my eyes and in the eyes of the Church. You killed your two best friends.”

“Job and Joshua were nothing but an extension of you,” he stated sourly. “Do you have any idea how much I truly hated them? I hated everything that revolved around you, anything you had anything to do with. My passion for you and everything you were about became my hatred. And my hatred became my passion and crusade. Job and Joshua were a part of you like the Pieces of Eight. And I wanted you to watch everyone close to you die. But unlike you, I had absolutely no intention to reach out to you with any sense of humanity once they were gone.”

“You could have killed me at Hawk’s ranch.”

“Sure I could have. But my agenda was quite clear. I wanted to destroy everything that was about you. I wanted your legacy to die by the proverbial pieces. And I wanted you to watch everyone who had been a part of your life disappear until you had nothing left to draw from. I wanted you to see your life minimized to nothing, before the moment of your death.”

Kimball couldn’t help feel a hurtful pang: such hatred. And then he removed his long coat and draped it over a sarcophagus.

Ezekiel quickly noted the knives sheathed to the warrior’s thighs, but expected no less since they were Kimball’s weapons of choice.

“There’s no turning back,” said Kimball. “Not now. Not after what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done was no different than what you’ve done. So perhaps you’re right. Perhaps there is no turning back after what we’ve both done. No salvation, no true hope of ever achieving redemption… Now you can stand there all day if you want and tell me how sorry you feel for all the horrible things you did and why you did them. But let’s face it; confession doesn’t always save the soul.”

Kimball nodded. “And that’s why I’m going to kill you with the feeling that I want to. Not because I have to.”

Kimball took a quick and worried glance at the cardinal.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Ezekiel. “I’ll keep my word regarding his welfare. Even though he’s a major part of your life, he’s still a clergyman. My war is with you. And besides, perhaps on the Day of Judgment, this moment of letting him live will give me a pass into White Eternity.”

“You really believe that?”

Ezekiel nodded. “No more than you believing that your salvation is within reach.”

Without comment Kimball slowly reached down and undid the snap of the first KA-BAR sheath with his right hand, then followed up by undoing the second snap with his left. Grabbing the hilts of the knives, he retracted them slowly from their holds, the sound of the slide between leather and metal minimal.

Ezekiel also approached the situation with the same sense of caution by never taking his eyes off Kimball and readied up. Reaching up and over his shoulder, he grabbed the handle of a katana and slid it free from its scabbard that festooned his backside.

“I see you have your toy,” said Kimball.

“One of many. But unlike the wooden one you trained me with, I promise you this one is very real, very sharp, and very deadly.”

“I appear to be at a disadvantage.”

“I always said mine was bigger than yours.”

Kimball held up his KA-BARs. “But two is always better than one.”

“We’ll see.”

The men slowly converged on one another with Ezekiel holding the polished blade of the katana in front of him with both hands, while Kimball gripped the knives tightly within his.

In trained combat fashion they sized each other up, the men looking for gaps, creases and moments of weakness.

The warriors were closing in, circling, seeking.

And then came an opportune moment.

Ezekiel came across in a horizontal flash of the katana’s polished blade and struck Kimball’s knife, the attack easily deflected with such casual ease on Kimball’s part that it slightly unnerved Ezekiel.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Ezekiel reflected a cautionary smile. “I haven’t even started.” As the last word left his lips, Ezekiel pivoted on the balls of his feet and attacked Kimball with a flurry of blows. The blade came downward, then across, followed by jabs and strikes, all neatly deflected by Kimball as sparks flew, danced and died. The momentum of the fight carried them across the chamber, close to a sarcophagus, Kimball running out of space.

The katana struck in rapid succession, the arcing sweeps of the blade moving too fast for the cardinal to see anything other than brief flashes of light from the blade’s luster.

Kimball countered defensively, his arms and hands moving with incredible speed, more by intuition than thought, the KA-BARs matching the same lightning speed as Ezekiel’s, strike, jab, defend.

Numerous sparks began to fly, the pace of the men gathering impetus as the blades struck repeatedly against one another, metal against metal, sparks flying everywhere as if the weapons were forged from flint rather than steel.

Kimball moved backward, losing ground, the stress beginning to weigh on him as his face began to contort with the strain of effort. His arms moved in blinding motions, up, down, across, deflecting the blade of the katana time and again.

Ezekiel appeared to pick up his effort, sensing a kill, the arcing strikes fluid, poetic, the speed of the blows wearing down his opponent.

Blow after blow Kimball was forced into a slow retreat, his back against the sarcophagus with less than a meter to spare.

And then in a vertical blow, Ezekiel brought the blade downward as if to cleave the man in half. But Kimball crossed his knives so that the blades made a perfect X and caught the blade within the upper-V portion of the X.

For a long moment time stood still, the men eyeing each other as their chests heaved and pitched for oxygen, the instant a welcome respite from the activity, the blades locked.

“You’re getting old,” said Ezekiel, his breathing labored.

“Yeah, well, for someone half my age you shouldn’t be sucking wind the way you do. I should have trained you better.”

Ezekiel smiled with malicious amusement. “I will admit… you are good.”

“And I’m about to get better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… Really.”

On that note Kimball went on the offensive. He cast aside the katana’s blade and went after Ezekiel with a series of blows and moves that were so poetically smooth that it seemed like a choreographed ballet to Cardinal Vessucci. Kimball’s arms moved with such incredible speed that it seemed impossible to defend against. But Ezekiel did so, marginally, his face taking on the look of someone who had misjudged his opponent and was quickly losing confidence.

His mentor was now in his element, striking blow after blow, steel against steel.

And Ezekiel began to look choppy, his motions uneven as he desperately deflected wave after wave of Kimball’s attack, the continuous barrage driving him backward as Kimball gained ground, the momentum now his as his confidence waxed, the blows becoming quicker, stronger, the intent to kill Ezekiel set by the determination of his squared jaw flexing.

After casting aside the blade of Ezekiel’s katana, Kimball came across with his KA-BAR and sliced Ezekiel across the abdomen, tearing the flesh but not gutting him like he intended to. Ezekiel stumbled backward, confused, the tip of the katana lowering toward the floor, slowly, his defenses totally shut down.

And then he fell to his knees, a hand over the wound as blood seeped steadily through the cracks of his clenching fingers. “You killed me.”

“Not yet. But I intend to.”

When Kimball stepped forward to finalize the action with a quick thrust of his KA-BAR, Ezekiel’s hand flew outward with incredible speed, a Chinese star taking flight.

Kimball reacted spontaneously, lifting a forearm just enough to catch the star, which was aimed for the throat. While Ezekiel knelt with a hand over his gash, he was also reaching for his three-pronged weapon. It was a sophomoric mistake on Kimball’s part to allow him to do so, and he chastised himself the moment the star imbedded within his flesh.

The razor-sharp prong bit deep, snapping one of the twin bones in his forearm, rendering the arm useless. And a KA-BAR fell to the floor, leaving him with one.

Ezekiel got to his feet, slowly, his face blanching to the color of the underbelly of a fish. The katana was still in his hand. But he held it in such a way that his body English said that there was little power, if any, to proffer a killing blow.

Nevertheless, he tried.

Wincing, his gut burning with white-hot pain, he struggled to lift the point of the katana at Kimball. “I’m tired of this game,” he managed. “Let’s get this over with.”

With surprising willpower Kimball didn’t think Ezekiel was capable of in his condition, the rogue warrior brought the blade up and across in an arc, the blows coming in slow succession with one hand managing the blade while the other covered his wound.

Even with one arm out of commission, Kimball easily deflected the katana, the volleys coming without effort.

And Kimball finalized the event with a sweeping arc of his own, the blade of his knife cutting Ezekiel deep across the shoulder, the katana finally dropping to the floor of the chamber.

Stumbling backward with the look of a man totally lost, Ezekiel reached blindly into one of his many hidden pockets for a Chinese star. But there were none, his pockets empty.

Kimball reestablished a firm grip on his KA-BAR until he was white-knuckled.

And then he ventured forward with obvious bloodlust, raising the blade for the final cut.

“Kimball!” Cardinal Vessucci voice was loud and firm, like a father admonishing a child before a wrongful act can be concluded. “He’s lost.”

Kimball stopped, his eyes still focusing on Ezekiel who looked like a man about to fall. “He killed Joshua and Job,” he said. “Good people who didn’t deserve to die. He murdered my team, the Pieces of Eight.”

“Then he shall be judged by God when his time comes. Don’t fall back to what you used to be, Kimball. I beg you.”

Ezekiel chortled. “Like I told you, Cardinal, a man can never truly turn away from what he really is. And Kimball failed the test.”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Only because the cardinal stopped you,” he returned. “The truth is you don’t have the will to stop yourself.”

Kimball sighed and lowered the knife.

Ezekiel leaned against the wall, blood all over him.

And Kimball made his second mistake. The moment he went to aid the cardinal to his feet he heard a snicker from behind.

It was the pick shooting up from a cylinder.

“Kimball, look out!”

But the warning came too late.

The cylinder flew across the chamber, the pick finding its mark of Kimball’s upper chest below the right clavicle. Suddenly his world lit up with pinprick stars of light flashing within his field of vision, which was turning purple around the edges. He could see Ezekiel moving with a surreal slowness toward the katana; saw the cylinder emerging from his chest, the pick wedged deep. There was no pain, at least not yet. And the cardinal’s voice sounded distant and deep, like a tape being played on its lowest setting, whatever he was saying much too slow to comprehend.

The gun, lying on the ground to his right, was situated near the base of the sarcophagus.

Just as Ezekiel was wrapping his hand around the hilt of the katana, Kimball grabbed the firearm and held it weakly aloft, then aimed it at Ezekiel. The purple edges were closing in to a mote of vision, his sight pinching toward darkness. And then he pulled the trigger.

Shots dotted the wall surrounding Ezekiel, causing him to duck.

… Pow… Pow… Pow…

The bullets missed their target, pocking a wall that was priceless with the history of antiquity, with chips flying everywhere.

Ezekiel dropped the katana, placed a bloodied hand over his head, and ran out of the chamber.

Kimball’s hand fell weakly to his side, the Smith & Wesson falling from grasp but not too far from his hand.

Cardinal Vessucci then aided Kimball by cradling his head within his lap. He could tell that Kimball was fading, his pupils contracting and his sight becoming detached from his reality. “You’ll be fine,” he whispered to him.

And then he faced the exit where Ezekiel had escaped.

All was incredibly quiet.

And then to himself, he said, “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a Vatican Knight went rogue.”

The old man sighed.