The Vatican Knights

CHAPTER ONE

Two Humvees and a canopied cargo truck in the color scheme of desert landscaping moved quickly across the desert floor, kicking up plumes of dust and sand. The forward Humvee, easily equipped to handle the environment, escorted an M-Series cargo truck deep into the valley while the aft Humvee kept pace, making sure those held within the truck’s cargo bay did not escape.

As the Humvees took the rises and falls of the desert floor with little bounce, the cargo truck, which lacked certain capabilities for such terrain, was less cooperative. With difficulty, the commando inside tried to steady the point of his MP5 on the eight Arabs sitting along the benches, their wrists bound by flex-cuffs.

The farther they moved off-road the more barren and inhospitable the landscape became. Enormous rock formations poked through the parched wasteland as windswept dust sped across the plain like sea swells. The clay was worn and brittle, the surface fragmenting over time from the elements of searing wind and unforgiving heat. And the caretakers — the snakes, scorpions and lizards who adapted to a wasteland that offered little rainfall and blistering sun — inherited a kingdom that no one cared to rule.

It was a place of no contrition.

Once the vehicles had negotiated the miles of ruts and rises and the topography finally leveled, the forward Humvee slowed to a stop, with the other vehicles coming to a halt in its trail. As the dust slowly settled, nine commandos, clad in desert camouflage, goggles and helmets, exited the Humvees and seated their magazines into their assault weapons.

In the forward Humvee, a commando stood through the open roof to the gun turret with a Laser YardagePro, the range-finding system making the binoculars so heavy he had to use both hands to steady them as he made a slow scan of the horizon. After confirming no movement, he lowered the binoculars. “Clear!”

At that moment the team leader, sitting in the rear of the cargo truck, lifted the canvas flap and, with the barrel of his MP5 pointed to the desert floor beyond the tailgate, shouted for those bound by flex-cuffs to exit the vehicle. When he spoke he did so in fluent Arabic, a language he had become accustomed to, by living in the Middle East his entire life.

One-by-one the captives leapt from the cargo hold, their eyes narrowed against the severity of an unforgiving sun, as the remaining soldiers barked orders, knowing full well their captives had little command of the English language. Yet the prodding with the tips of their weapons was language enough as they goaded the Arabs to a clearing of dead brush and sun-baked clay.

From the rear of the cargo hold, the team leader looked on dispassionately while his unit led the hostages before a stone structure shaped like a half shell, its surface having been worn smooth by the winds. He then turned to face the two Arabs still sitting along the hardwood benches, their ankles shackled to a steel ring welded to the floor. With cold fortitude, Team Leader directed his weapon on them.

“Today marks the beginning of the end,” he told them. “So consider them—” he tipped his head in the direction of their brothers standing before the half shell— “the lucky ones.” With mechanical slowness, he pointed his weapon ceilingward. “I’m afraid Allah has a far greater destiny for you both,” he said, “so your Paradise will have to wait.” There was nothing cynical in his tone. It was simply a straight-forward statement that death had its place and this was not their time.

Recognizing the Islamic scripture, Team Leader, previously so self-possessed, became incensed.

“If Allah truly hears you, then ask Him for divine intervention for the sake of your brothers. And if He truly is your savior, then have Him strike me down before you as a show of His almighty power. I will grant Him one minute to do so,” he said. And then he held up his forefinger. “He has one… minute. Not a second more.”

He abruptly jumped out of the truck and slammed the tailgate shut as a sign of his resentment. He walked toward the half shell, his eyes fixing on the Arabs, and then gestured to his troops to force the captives to their knees.

Having regained his composure, Team Leader gripped his weapon and took stock of his enemies, exhibiting little emotion as they pleaded for clemency. But their words fell upon deaf ears as he looked skyward.

Allah, You now have less than a minute.

Before him the Arabs pleaded in earnest, either to show them mercy or to send them to Paradise.

After removing his goggles and helmet, he turned his face skyward to bask in a warm streamer of light that lit upon him and spotlighted his pale complexion that was in stark contrast to his raven hair and even darker eyes. On the base of his chin was a wedge-shaped scar, a vestige from a suicide bomber several years earlier in Ramallah. The damaged tissue served as a constant reminder of a constant struggle.

After putting his helmet back on and tucking the goggles beneath his shoulder strap, Team Leader leveled and balanced his weapon for the kill shot, inciting hysterical pleas from two Arabs who cried out for redemption, their will to enter Paradise having escaped them.

When the minute was up and Allah was nowhere in sight, and with the mouth of his MP5 shifting from one Arab to the next as if deciding who would be the first to enter Paradise, he spoke to them in a manner that was flat and desensitized.

“When you see Allah,” he said, the point of his weapon now leveled, “tell Him that Yahweh sent you.” With no hesitation or sense of remorse, Team Leader pulled the trigger.

When it was over, the gunshots echoed toward the far reaches of the valley, then dissipated into a distant and hollow cadence until nothing sounded but the soft soughing of the desert wind.

With the smell of cordite hanging cloyingly thick and metallic in the air, Team Leader closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, relishing the moment.

The moment, however, was hastily interrupted by the voice of one of his commandos.

“You want us to bury them?”

Team Leader opened his eyes, the moment gone. “I want you to pull two men and have them spread the bodies out,” he said with a clipped foreign accent. “And bury them deep. The last thing I need is for the coyotes to bring them to the surface.”

“Yes, sir.”

Team Leader took a step toward the bodies and measured the looks on their faces. Not one seemed to have the repose of gentle peace. Instead, each face exhibited what Team Leader interpreted as surprise at its own mortality. Or was it the sudden revelation of standing before the true face of Judgment? Considering this, he once again turned toward the sky as if seeking answers but got nothing in return except diminishing warmth, as the ribbon of light that had cast upon him was suddenly cut off by a passing cloud.

Turning his attention back to the Arabs, he could only wonder if they truly believed that their god-driven causes would be rewarded with a heaven full of virgins.

It was a mindset Team Leader never fully understood, believing when man stood erect and walked away from the primordial soup he took with him the concept of self-preservation. Yet these factional groups of people were driven by suicidal fascination that clearly eclipsed their need to survive. Fighting for a cause was one thing; dying for one was another.

With the tip of his weapon Team Leader prodded one of the Arabs, the action causing the man’s head to loll to one side.

“Now the battle begins,” he whispered to the dead man in Arabic. “So tell me, who will be the stronger god? Allah or Yahweh?” Expecting no answer, the man with the scar turned and headed to the rear of the cargo truck, where he would take his place in the cargo hold for the long journey back.

With his MP5 trained on his human cargo, and with al-Hashrie and al-Bashrah continuing their mantra with newfound urgency, Team Leader contemplated the fate of the two men before him, anticipating the impact they would have on the future of the civilized world.

Yes, Team Leader considered. These two have a much greater role in the eyes of Allah.