The Iscariot Agenda

CHAPTER EIGHT

The pope’s chamber was laden with veined-marble flooring that shined like the surface of ice, and scarlet drapes with scalloped edges and gold fringe covered the floor-to-ceiling windows. Polished brass sconces surrounded six-foot portraits of past popes, the gallery lining the walls in the chronological order they served the Church. The chamber held the sizeable dimensions of a ballroom that served as the nerve center of papal activity.

After Kimball entered the room, the enormous wooden doors closed behind him with mechanical slowness. His footfalls echoed throughout with the poor acoustics as he neared the pontiff’s desk, which bore the ornate carvings of angels and cherubs on the mahogany panels.

Sitting in a button-studded chair made of Corinthian leather sat Pope Pius. Beside him stood Cardinal Vessucci, wearing the normal vestments of the simar with scarlet trim and a scarlet biretta. The cardinal appeared to be holding photos, obviously engaging the pope of the matter in hand before Kimball entered the chamber.

Pope Pius fell back in his chair and gestured for Kimball to take one of the two chairs before his desk. “I’m glad you could make it, Kimball. My deepest apology for interrupting your session with the monsignor, but the situation requires your immediate presence.”

Kimball sat down. “We were done anyway. How can I be of service, Your Holiness?”

Pius turned to the cardinal, a cue to Vessucci to take over. The cardinal then handed three 8x10 glossies to Kimball. “We just received these from Vatican Intelligence,” he told him.

Having diplomatic relationships with more than ninety percent of the world’s countries, the Vatican’s Intelligence Service, the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, better known as the SIV, was created to counter early 19th century efforts to subvert the power of the Vatican. So the Church saw the need in creating an “unofficial” security agency to solve problems by conceiving a system of confidential communication and information gathering. But with the growing threat of extremist groups, the SIV had grown to a major organization since the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II.

As Kimball examined the photos his shoulders began to soften and slump. “I know these people,” he said. “They were a part of my old unit, the Pieces of Eight.”

He inspected the glossies further, noting the dead faces, the whites of their eyes holding at half mast.

“The photos you’re holding were taken in makeshift morgues in the Philippines. These, however,” he handed Kimball three additional photos, “were taken at the scene where the bodies were found.”

The bodies were facedown, unrecognizable, their shirts ripped and parted, a letter carved into each man’s back. He also noted that Walker was tied to the legs of a table, his own legs missing.

“Somebody cut off Walker’s legs?”

“No. Mr. Walker was apparently — for lack of a better term — a mercenary who lost them in an IED attack in Iraq. Misters Grenier and Arruti, however, where operating a military agency in the southern Philippines while looking after Walker, who remained in Manila.”

“A band of brothers,” he whispered. And then he took notice of the carvings. “Symbols?”

“Letters,” Vessucci immediately stated.

“Are you sure? One looks like a lightning bolt and the other looks like a sideways V, like Greek runes or something.”

“At first glance — yes, but the SIV has concluded that they’re nothing more than crude carvings. It’s been determined that the bolt is actually an S, and the sideways V — as you put it— the letter C.” He handed Kimball another photo, this one of his old unit posing for the camera’s lens. Kimball was kneeling in the bottom roll, the last one on the right, his face maintaining the appearance of cold fortitude in a time that seemed so long ago. In the top roll the faces of the Pieces of Eight — Walker, Grenier and Arruti, who stood side-by-side from left to right — were circled in red marker, the letter ‘I’ in Walker’s circle, the letter ‘S’ in Grenier’s, the letter ‘C’ in Arruti’s.

“I-S-C. Whoever’s doing this is spelling out a message, that’s clear.”

“But what? And even more disturbing, why?” asked the pope.

Kimball traced the photo with a glancing trail of his finger over the fourth member, Ian McMullen, an Irishman who lived up to his stereotyped billing by loving his alcohol as much as he loved his AR-15. An empty circle was drawn around his face. “This guy isn’t very subtle, is he?”

“Kimball, these photos were sent to the SIV by whoever is doing this to these men. And he’s working toward the final member in the photo… And that’s you. Whoever sent it knows you’re here.”

“That’s impossible,” he said heatedly. “Everybody attached to that unit, including the United States government, believes I’m dead.”

“Apparently not,” said Pius. “Otherwise, there would be no reason for this murderer to be sending these photos here.”

Kimball considered this. Reasonably speaking, the pontiff was correct. “You’re right, but what concerns me is that Grenier and Arruti were sharp commandos. It’s hard to believe that one guy could take them on and beat them both.”

“Whether it is one or many, this has to be dealt with before he, or they, decides to bring their war to the Vatican.”

Cardinal Vessucci rounded the desk and sat on its edge, facing Kimball. “The problem, Kimball, is that Leviticus and his team are in Brazil, and Isaiah is in Colombia with his. Ezekiel, Job and Joshua are on their annual sabbaticals and won’t be back for another two weeks.”

“You’re telling me I’m on my own?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to find Ezekiel, Job and Joshua. The SIV will find them.”

“That could take days.” He turned to the photo; saw the circled face of McMullen. “I already have a team,” he added.

The pope leaned forward. “You’re not talking about your old unit, are you?”

“Why not? There’re five left. That’s more than enough to accomplish the means.”

“Kimball, these men,” the cardinal pointed to the photos of the murdered men, “were mercenaries killing for the highest bidder. Are you sure you want to reconnect with the ways of old?”

“Let’s put it this way: Let’s see how far I’ve really come with a little temptation in my life. Let’s see if I really miss what I was… Or if I’m pleased with what I have become.”

“Kimball—”

The Knight immediately raised a halting hand. “Bonasero, please, this man” —He pointed to McMullen’s image—“saved my life on two occasions. Obviously he’s next on the list, which means I have to get to him before they do. My time is limited.”

Pope Pius sighed. “I’m not comfortable with this, Kimball,” he said. “But I cannot allow someone’s life to hang in the balance under any circumstance. Nevertheless, I will have the SIV look into the whereabouts of the Knights on sabbatical and, once found, have them reconnoiter with your position as soon as possible.”

“Understood. But I’ll need to leave right away and re-team with my old unit. I just need the current dossiers of the remaining members. And I’ll need to know where they are.”

“The SIV will have the information available by the time you’re ready to leave,” said Vessucci.

Kimball stood. “I appreciate it.”

“And Kimball.” The pope rose, donning his full vestments. “This temptation you speak of about turning back to the ways of old once you return to those who chose to remain in darkness, I have all the faith that you will stay true.”

“Yeah, well, somebody has to, I guess.”

“Kimball,” the cardinal placed a gentle hand on Kimball’s shoulder. “Be careful, please. It’s hard to fight something that’s unknown, unseen, and uses the shadows as camouflage.”

“If it exists, then it can be found. They found me, didn’t they?”

“Be careful, Kimball,” said Pope Pius. “And may God be with you.”

Kimball nodded. I’m certainly going to need Him for this one, he considered. Not due to the danger to his welfare, but because of the dangers of falling back to the ways of old. Would he like the taste of taking a man’s life simply because he could, the same way an alcoholic needs a single taste to fall off the wagon? Or would he be able to remain guided, taking life only because he had to with killing as a final option?

After giving the cardinal a good-bye pat on the shoulder and kissing the Fisherman’s Ring on Pope Pius’s hand, Kimball made his way toward the massive chamber doors with his footfalls echoing throughout the room in haunting cadence.