The Vatican Knights

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Although posted at a distance, Boston’s Metro Assault Units developed a perimeter around the depository disguised as city workers, by blocking off connecting streets and avenues with flashing sawhorses and orange utility cones. Troops in full riot gear were ready in unmarked vans within the periphery. And by redirecting the masses in such a subtle manner away from ground zero, the area had been cleared without so much as drawing a curious eye.

The city had set their ducks in a row.

The Vatican Knights had dressed accordingly by removing the Roman collars to avoid questioning, but continued to wear the embroidered crest of the silver Pattée within the powder blue shield on their body armor. Their black titanium assault helmets with tinted faceplates acted as night vision viewers, a technical creation from the brilliant minds of the Vatican Division Armory where the safety of each knight was mandatory and never a choice. The faceplate acted as a window that provided night vision capabilities with a 180 degree peripheral view, which was unlike the NVG monocular that granted less than 45 degrees. Each of the Vatican Knights was armed with the HK XM8 special assault rifle, which were configured in carbine form for close combat. Kimball, however, opted for the grenade launcher.

Once the gear had been checked and double checked, once Kimball reexamined Shari’s combat gear for fit and maneuverability, the Vatican Knights set forth with Kimball on the point and Shari in the rear.

They would start at the wrought-iron fence.

The Master lock was new, as well as the chain that held together the gates leading to the rear of the depository.

Removing a canister from his cargo pocket, Kimball sprayed a corrosive acid on the links, the chain bubbling and boiling until the metal gave way. After removing the chain as if it was a delicate rope of garland, he opened the gate just wide enough to allow his team passage. Quietly, they maneuvered their way to the rear of the compound where they found the military transport truck hidden under a bevy of heavy boughs.

Using hand motions to communicate, Kimball balled his fist and pulled down like a trucker blowing a horn, pointed to his eyes, then at the truck — a signal to Leviticus to scout the vehicle while the Vatican Knights held back.

Leviticus moved in, prudently, his head and weapon on a swivel. After he scouted the truck, he offered a closed-fisted gesture indicating ‘all clear.’ The Vatican Knights moved quietly ahead.

Behind the depository was a dirt lot bearing weeds as tall as a man’s waist, a good spot to hunker close to the three-story building without being seen. From their vantage point they could see the windows of the first level filled with brick and mortar. Also in view was a fire escape that hung tenuously from rusted bolts, its stability absent and too dangerous to mount. The windows on the second and third level were boarded over with sheets of plywood or planks, leaving the fire door on the first level a possible entryway. But the area surrounding the door was refurbished with new building blocks, meaning the area had been reinforced with steel rods before being re-bricked.

That left the roof.

Kimball withdrew into a wild tangle of bushes for cover and motioned his team close for conference.

“Isaiah and Micah, you got the rooftop. One enters from the south, the other from the north. Once done, descend and converge until you locate the pope. Then report back with his pinpointed position. Questions?” There were none. “Go.”

Isaiah and Micah moved swiftly across the drive and stood at the base of the building looking skyward toward the roof. Inside of Isaiah’s backpack was a pneumatic launcher geared to fire pitons. And after Isaiah locked and loaded a piton into the tube with an attached line, he aimed and shot the weapon so the piton embedded itself firmly into the wall about a foot below the edge of the roof. He then tested the hold of the line by pulling himself up the cord a couple of feet and suspended himself, the piton unyielding in its grip. Confident in the piton‘s ability to hold, they climbed the cable until they reached the rooftop, then disappeared over the edge.

After giving the rooftop unit enough time to find a breach to enter the building, Kimball loaded his grenade launcher and took position with Leviticus standing alongside him with his HK XM8 directed at the target point. There would be no mistaking that their knock on the door was going to be noisy, since their intention was to cause enough of a distraction to drive the Force Elite to a single point of defense, while Isaiah and Micah converged in flank maneuver to hem them in. Since the site was fortified, there was no other option. The Force Elite had chosen well.

Kimball directed the grenade launcher to the left of the fire door where the brick was old and aged, the weakest point, rather than to take on the newly reinforced area.

“I’ll go in first to neutralize any immediate threat,” Kimball said to Shari. “Then Leviticus will follow and sweep the premise. After the area has been secured, I need you to stay behind and maintain a secure position to ensure that we didn’t miss anyone. Leviticus and I will move against any hostile attack from the upper levels. By that time the rooftop units should be moving into position to flank the hostiles. Questions?”

“You want me to lag behind?”

He stared directly into her eyes. “You‘re not trained for this, Shari, and you know it. Leave this to those who’ve been there and done that. I need you to take the rear and look for those we may have missed. Leviticus and I are going to draw the attention from the upper levels. And I’d like to do that without worrying that somebody is flanking us from behind.”

She cocked her head. Kimball was right; this type of tactical work was way above her.

“Good. Glad to see that everyone understands,” he said. Then, “Does everybody know their game plan?”

Shari and Leviticus nodded. Their expected actions were clear.

“Okay, people, this is what it’s all about.” Kimball aimed the launcher and pulled the trigger. To the left of the door the wall disseminated into carnage that sent shattered rock, brick and mortar in all directions, and then boiling plumes of smoke and dust exploded outward and upward, rendering visibility to zero.

After loading a second grenade, Kimball moved in and disappeared into the smoke.

The explosion shook the whole building, galvanizing the Force Elite into combat mode. Each man grabbed his assault weapon and seated a bullet into its chamber as they took position along the third floor corridor. Diamondback manned the monitors, watching the dense smoke and dust on all screens. “We have a breach!” he hollered.

“How many?”

“Unknown!”

Kodiak, Boa and King Snake took position along the top of the stairwell and aimed their weapons into the mushroom cloud boiling up at them at a furious pace. In a hail of gunfire hundreds of rounds were fired into the cloud, the bullets ripping out chunks of brick from the walls of the stairwell and sent them scattering into the billowing smoke cloud that roiled up the stairs like a geyser. In the time it took them to reload their weapons in the aftermath of the first volley, a second explosion rocked the building.

Kimball Hayden was making a statement.

Team Leader moved like the wind down the corridor, his Glock tightly within his grasp. When he reached the bank of monitors he shoved Diamondback aside in order to position himself in front of the viewing screens. Managing the joy stick, Team Leader directed the remote camera lens toward a position where dust and smoke were minimal, and noted a large man enter swiftly through a hole in the wall on the first-floor level. Watching the figure load another grenade into the launcher, Team Leader zoomed in on the man’s features.

Although the commando’s head gear included a tinted face shield, it did not cover the man’s face totally. Team Leader thought he saw the man’s lips curl into a sardonic grin before aiming the launcher at the camera, then pulling the trigger.

The second explosion was far more brutal than the first.

After hearing the explosions, Metro’s Assault Teams were immediately deployed as backup units. They dispersed from the cube vans and closed the perimeter until the depository was absolutely the epicenter of all activity.

With the noose drawing tighter, even a cockroach would have had difficulty breaking through the column unseen.

After the first explosion, Micah and Isaiah entered the building from opposite ends through holes in the poorly maintained roof. On the south end Isaiah lowered himself onto a rickety header beam, the wood groaning under his weight as he dangled from the girder, then let go, his body landing with natural grace on the hardwood floor of a corridor leading to a stairwell.

Directing his HK XM8 in front of him, he scoped the area for hostiles and noted the south stairwell had collapsed to rubble all the way down to the first level.

Knees slightly bent and body bowed forward, Isaiah moved along the corridor viewing the scene through the crosshairs of his weapon.

Micah found a passage through a hole in the roof barely big enough to pass through. After gaining a handhold on a rotting joist beam, he carefully took position within a tangle of rotted wood where he watched the Force Elite take position on top of the stairwell and fire off several rounds to deter any hostile advancement.

Micah noted Isaiah was nowhere in sight. And with no one to cover him he felt highly vulnerable.

Further down the hall, crouched and shackled against the wall, were four members of the Holy See.

The pope was nowhere in sight.

Snaking into position between rotted beams, Micah clicked on the laser sighting and focused the dot onto one of the commando’s holding position at the stairwell. He could easily clear the area with three quick shots.

Taking careful aim, the red dot landing squarely on the back of Boa’s head, Micah began to squeeze the trigger.

Leviticus moved in with Shari in tow and scouted the entry area. Once he established that the area was secure, Shari instinctively swiped at the swirling dust as if to drive the cloud away. She had no success.

Gunfire continued to erupt from the north end of the stairwell, the ammo taking pieces of concrete from the walls and stairs — a strong message to the advancement team that the stairwell was not a consideration for encroachment.

Kimball brought his hand to his lip mike and drew it closer to his lips. “Isaiah?”

So far the corridor’s clear, he returned. I haven’t been able to pinpoint the packages. My guess is that they’re probably at Micah’s end.

“Copy that… Micah?”

There was no reply. Micah was either occupied or dispatched.

“Isaiah, Micah’s right on top of them!”

I’m moving, Isaiah said.

“Be careful!”

It wouldn’t be long before Isaiah and Micah were in position to draw the attention of the Force Elite, considered Kimball.

The red dot wavered ever so slightly on the back of Boa’s head, a zone that promised a quick kill. Slowly, Micah pulled back on the trigger, the tension set lighter than most assault weapons, and slowed his breathing to steady his aim. After killing the first one, he would kill the other two while they were caught in the grip of their own surprise. The trigger slid farther back, the mechanism about to engage, the red dot as steady as a tattoo.

And then the kill shot.

Micah’s face shield exploded into spider’s web cracks as a single bullet penetrated the plastic guard, a single hole placed dead center. Micah’s head reared back as if trying to understand the moment of his sudden death, and then he fell from the beam and landed on top of another joist. His midsection was draped in such a way that it looked as if he was momentarily suspended in midair trying to touch his toes, before sliding noiselessly from the girder and to the floor.

From a distance Team Leader had seen the red laser dot from Micah’s weapon, a microdot floating in space, and then he took careful aim and fired his Glock. As he closed in, a ribbon of smoke was rising from the tip of his pistol, the weapon directed right at Micah as he lay there. After he examined the body to confirm the man’s death, he noticed the silver Pattée within the shield and the flanking heraldic lions that supported the crest on his body armor. No doubt the squad emblem, he thought.

Looking ceiling-ward he noted the poorly constructed roof. He had always known of its porous quality, having absorbed the rains for several years and gone unkempt. It was obviously the opportunity the combatants had found in order to breach the building silently. The first-floor entry was simply a diversion tactic that nearly worked, his team maintaining their concentration on what they thought was the only point of advancement while others entered unseen from above.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Team Leader realized that his aspirations of dividing the world into warring factions were now idealistic rather than a reality. If he was to kill the pope now, and the truth be known to the world community that it was a top Israeli commando who actually pulled the trigger, then that would only isolate his beloved Israel rather than propel it to the fore.

His dream was dead and he knew it.

Team Leader quickly made his way down the corridor. Without a doubt the building would soon be overwhelmed, since the operative he killed was sent to pinpoint their exact location. Whether or not the man succeeded in his mission he didn’t know. But one thing was for sure — it was time to jump ship.

The pope clung to Bishop Angelo’s hand, Angelo’s digits having locked into place, unable to bend to embrace the hand of the man whom he had come to love as a father. Nevertheless, the pope cupped his hands over the bishop’s and held on as if he’d never let go.

In the background was gunfire, a lot of it. And in the back of Pope Pius’s mind he truly believed his time on earth was coming to an end.

So he prayed.

He prayed for the forgiveness of those who would take his life, and for those who would take the lives of those surrounding him. He prayed for his own salvation, ashamed for hating the man who forced him to witness Man’s darkest side. He had come to realize that the Light of his world was imbibing the Darkness of someone else’s.

From the corner of his eye, as he held Bishop Angelo’s hand, and the gunfire never lessening, Pope Pius spotted the Dark Man of his hatred standing silhouetted in the doorway against the ongoing muzzle flashes in the background. With his weapon drawn the man entered the room. And in a look of defiance, Pius courageously raised his head.

For a moment they stared at each other, the firefight in the background becoming a drone as they appraised one another. Each man had learned some insights of the other, perhaps the Light imbibing as much of the Darkness as the Darkness imbibed the Light, making each man equal since they now shared qualities of both. How they exercised those qualities would still come from each man’s independent will. It was all about making the choices that suited them most — good, bad or indifferent.

Team Leader looked him in the eyes and was pleased with what he saw. Here sat a man who was not afraid to die, a man whose conviction of faith was strong enough to break the chains that bind him, if only he had the physical strength to do so. And then Team Leader did something uncharacteristic; he bowed to the pope in what Pius took to be a measure of respect. “For centuries my people have been persecuted,” he said. “But no matter what, we’ll eventually persevere. You’re a good man, Your Holiness, but until all become like you, only then will this end. I could only dream of such a day.”

Raising his weapon, the laser finding its mark, Team Leader pulled the trigger.

“Isaiah.” Kimball’s voice was loud, as if to cry out over the noise. “Have you detected the packages?”

That’s negative. I’m coming to a doorway leading to the north corridor. So far the south side is clear. It seems that Micah might have come straight down into their laps since the point of defense seems to be at his entry.

“Copy that.” And then, “Micah?” There was no answer, which concerned Kimball. And then again, but this time louder, “Micah?”

When he didn’t answer, Kimball turned to Shari, the Incident Command Deputy, and gave her a gesture of circling his hand in the air as if twirling a lasso. “To the south sector maneuvering to the north!” he hollered to her.

Shari pulled her lip mike close and barked an order to the Incident Command Post. Bring in the Descending Angels.

The cavalry was on the move from above.

Kodiak glanced up from reloading his weapon and saw Team Leader run toward the south end of the hallway and disappear in the shadows. His mind immediately clicked on the realization that Team Leader was bailing. He had been so focused, so diligent to duty; he had drawn himself into tunnel vision and was hardly aware of his surroundings beyond the stairwell. After firing the last clip into the dusty shaft, he pulled back along with Boa and began to retreat. King Snake maintained his position.

“King Snake, let’s move!”

“I’ll hold off the advancement! GO!”

Boa and Kodiak went to the monitor room where Diamondback and Sidewinder were arming their body armor attachments by loading up with as much ammo as their duty belts would carry. Boa and Kodiak followed suit, knowing that King Snake would soon be out of ammo.

“Where’s Team Leader?” asked Diamondback.

“Gone,” said Boa.

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Just gone!”

All four had geared up to the max as if they knew there would be no tomorrow.

In the hallway at the top of the stairwell, King Snake had run out of ammo.

The sudden quiet seemed somewhat odd.

Two choppers lifted off from Logan Airport’s Air Operations helibase, flew over the depository and hovered over the rooftop. Ropes and cables were thrown from the bays and the assault commandos began to rappel from the choppers until a Strike Force of twelve had secured the rooftop. With a gesture from the top commando the choppers veered off and returned to base.

The Descending Angels had landed.

Kimball and Leviticus immediately advanced up the north stairwell with Kimball holding his weapon forward, while Leviticus prepared flash bangs to disorient any hostiles who may be maintaining position.

Reaching the second level they saw a single hostile standing on the third floor level charging a Sig, his lone weapon. Taking careful aim, Leviticus locked onto the man with his weapon and immediately pulled the trigger. The quick burst found its mark. The commando, dancing like a marionette, jittered as each bullet punched into him, and then he collapsed to the floor.

When the area was clear Leviticus made his way up the stairs with Shari Cohen behind him. Kimball maintained cover by keeping the point of his weapon steady, as they made their way to the final level. After they maneuvered into a safe position at the top of the stairs, Leviticus was close enough to the dead man to reach out with his fingers and place them against the man’s carotid. There was no pulse, the man was dead.

Kimball pushed his mike button. “Leviticus?”

“One down, at least five…” He cut himself short. To the right of him lay the body of Micah; unmoving, twisted in such a way that Leviticus knew he was dead.

“Leviticus?”

“We lost Micah,” he whispered. “And I don’t see Isaiah.”

I’m Code-4 and working south, Isaiah returned.

“Copy that,” said Kimball. “Leviticus, any visuals?”

Both Leviticus and Shari peeked around the corner of the wrought-iron banister and surveyed the hallway. Huddled against the wall were the remaining four members of the Holy See, all alive — and absolutely terrified.

“That’s affirmative on four of the packages,” Leviticus whispered. “But I don’t see the big picture, though.”

“Hostiles?”

“Negative.”

“They’ve pulled back into the shadows. Maintain your position,” Kimball told them. “The Descending Angels will be moving in from the south with Isaiah.”

“Copy that.” Kimball pulled his lip mike even closer. “Shari, go ahead and send in the ground troops as backup. I’m going to take over your position as rear guard and secure the second floor.”

“By yourself?”

“I’ve got to make sure that there are no surprises since we’re unable to maintain a visual of the hostiles,” he said. “They have to be somewhere.”

“Copy that.”

When Shari made the call, the rear of the depository quickly filled with Metro’s Assault Unit.

Team Leader saw Isaiah moving stealthily down the hallway, clinging to the shadows with his weapon aimed directly in front of him. Quietly, Team Leader melded into dark shadows and pressed himself against a false wall leading to a ladder that led down to the second level. When he pushed the wall it gave way, providing an aperture large enough for him to pass through, and quietly slid the wall back into place before Isaiah could have noticed him.

Cramped by the small area, Team Leader shuffled sideways between the inner and outer walls until he reached the crudely constructed ladder of lath and broken boards. After descending to the second floor he found himself in a tight space identical to the one above. With some effort, he pushed on another false wall that opened into a dusty room.

Stealthily making his way to the hallway, keeping his head on a swivel, he was all but home free.

Leviticus had often been in combat before, and quiet was not a good sign. Right now it was too quiet. Hunkering close to the floor, he crawled to Micah and removed his helmet. His comrade’s eyes stared at nothing in particular. A bloodless bullet wound marred the center of his once porcelain-like skin on his forehead.

He gently placed his fingers over Micah’s eyes and closed them, then recited The Lord’s Prayer in hushed tones, the words carrying the length of the corridor in haunting whispers. The remaining members of the Force Elite froze at the sound of Leviticus’ voice.

“What’s that?” hissed Boa.

Kodiak shushed him. The whispers echoed from all points of the hallway as if they came from more than one entity.

Then finally: “It’s definitely not King Snake,” whispered Kodiak. “He wouldn’t know a prayer if it slapped him in the face… So I guess it’s time to rock and roll, boys.”

Diamondback leaned close. “What about the hostages?”

“We do what we were hired to do,” Kodiak muttered. “If we get the chance, then we kill them… Starting with the pope.”

Isaiah had the bishops of the Holy See within sight. Like Leviticus, his hackles rose instinctively over the silence, but he pressed on.

When Leviticus saw Isaiah coming in from the south, he moved in to converge, but motioned Shari to keep position and provide cover.

When Isaiah nearly reached the Monitor Room, all hell broke loose.

Kodiak exited the room first, unaware Isaiah had quietly worked his way down the corridor and hid behind the door. Kodiak, however, immediately saw Leviticus pressed tight against the wall and coming toward him. As he trained his weapon on Leviticus, Isaiah sprang from behind the door and rammed the butt of his assault weapon to the lower part of Kodiak’s spine. The big man dropped to his knees, twisting toward his attacker and leveling his weapon as he fell. Isaiah kicked the pistol away, the firearm skating across the floor.

Kodiak came immediately to his feet and with a roundhouse kick, knocked the much smaller man’s weapon aside. With a straight forearm jab Kodiak placed a powerful shot to Isaiah’s face shield, shattering the plastic and sending Isaiah to the ground.

The helmet no longer an asset, Isaiah ripped it away, leapt to his feet and assumed a stance reminiscent of tae-kwon-do.

Leviticus held his fire for fear of shooting Isaiah and maintained his position in the corridor as the two men sized each other up. Kodiak, with incredible agility for such a large man, came across swiftly with a roundhouse kick that missed Isaiah and hit the wall like a cannonball, causing chunks of plaster and lath to scatter across the floor. Kodiak’s follow up punch missed as well, hitting and fracturing the wall as if it was constructed of aluminum foil.

More explosions reverberated through the depository. The Descending Angels, having breached the rooftop at the north and central sectors, began rappelling into the building.

Both men continued to square off, obviously intent on one another. “It’s all over,” hollered Isaiah. “Give it up.”

“Are you kidding?” said Kodiak. “I would die with a smile on my face knowing that I broke your neck.” He came at Isaiah with savage forearm thrusts and deadly kicks, each missing its mark as the much nimbler Isaiah dodged or deflected the blows in seemingly effortless fashion. Kodiak, in what he thought was an opening, lifted his massive arm to strike a crushing hammer blow to Isaiah’s skull, but Isaiah lashed out with his foot and drove Kodiak backward.

Quickly employing kick after powerful kick, blow after powerful blow, Isaiah attacked the much larger man with such incredible speed and skill, Shari, watching from the corridor, was transfixed by the talent of his martial arts. He was smooth and graceful, the movements hypnotic, and in quick fashion had Kodiak pinned against the opposite side of the hallway with his back pressed against a boarded window. In bestial rage Kodiak screamed as Isaiah came around with a powerful kick that connected squarely on Kodiak’s chest. The impact was so great, the contact so forceful, the impetus drove the large man through the window, his body tumbling in speedy revolutions to the graveyard below. His death sounded like a melon hitting the pavement.

Isaiah immediately gathered his assault weapon. Now with Leviticus by his side, the Descending Angels swarming the hallway, and ground forces moving up the stairwell, the two Knights and Shari entered the Monitor Room expecting an all-out assault.

But the room was empty.

The Force Elite had prepared well for the contingency of being surrounded by the opposition. While Kodiak combated Isaiah, the others used the opportunity to escape through a false panel built into the old floor disguised as a series of removable tiles. They descended immediately to the second level. Once assembled, they made their way down the hallway and took position beneath the room where the pope was held, and aimed their assault weapons at the ceiling with the intent to kill.

After checking on the remaining four members of the Holy See and finding them justifiably shaken, Shari left Leviticus and Isaiah to tend to their needs while she continued to search the vacant rooms that bordered the corridor.

In a room that held little light, Shari spotted a lump of darkness gathered against the far wall. It was amoeba-like in its form, but moving, its breathing labored and wet, however. When she neared the shape it began to take on an outline of an old man holding another closely. The two masses together, from a distance, indistinguishable. Up close, she could see that the pope had drawn a dead man into his embrace.

“Your Holiness!” She kneeled and gently touched the old man’s forehead and felt the heat of fever. “Your Holiness, you’re ill. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”

“Who are you?” he asked weakly while she wrapped blankets around him.

“FBI Special Agent Shari Cohen, I’m here with the Vatican Knights.”

His brows rose. “Kimball’s here?”

“Yes, sir. They’re acting as my Critical Incident Response Group.”

“Then it’s truly over?”

“Yes, sir, you’re safe.”

The pope raised his hand. The chain that tethered him to the wall for so long was now broken, a perfect shot by Team Leader freeing the man. “I don’t know why he did this,” the pope explained.

Shari sidestepped the body of Bishop Angelo. “We’ll come back for him. I promise.”

In that instance the floor suddenly erupted in shards of wood and bullets. So Shari grabbed the pope and forced him close to the wall, shielding him with her body. From underneath gunshots perforated the floorboards and strafed the ceiling, causing bits of wood and old tar to cascade down on them like rain. All around feathers floated in the gloom as bullets penetrated the old mattresses, the feather stuffing swirling and dancing about in lazy eddies. Bishop Angelo’s body also took multiple hits, the punching bullets animating his corpse into jiggling fits. And in desperation, Shari cried out as the room became a world of spinning lead, gently floating feathers, and choking dust.

Kimball moved discreetly down the second floor corridor. Thirty yards ahead the area was lit by multiple muzzle flashes, marking the spot where the members of the Force Elite were shooting at the ceiling.

Over Kimball’s earpiece he heard Shari cry out over her mike, not an order nor a battle cry, but a shout of extreme anxiety.

He quickly converged with his grenade launcher loaded and ready. Less than a second later a grenade corkscrewed through the quasi-darkness and exploded with an eruption that scattered the commandos throughout the corridor as bits and pieces of gore. None of them knew what hit them.

At the base point of their attack, Kimball looked up and noted the perforated ceiling above him. When he called out Shari’s name numerous times but received nothing but feedback, he became particularly concerned for her welfare.

And then a voice, distant and hollow, came from behind. “You would be Kimball Hayden, I assume.” Kimball turned quickly, his finger on the trigger of an empty weapon, and then with his free hand removed his helmet and lip mike and tossed them aside.

At the end of the hallway a man stood near the collapsed stairwell, sizing Kimball.

Kimball took a step toward him, the mouth of the grenade launcher pointing downward.

“I have heard so much about you,” the man said, his accent thick. “I hear that there is no better warrior than you.”

Kimball moved closer, the face of the man clearer in the feeble light. Beneath the chin, a wedge of scarring, the distortion of tissue as identifying as a tattoo.

“And you would be Abraham Obadiah,” he said.

“That would be, at least for today, the name you would know me by, yes.”

Obadiah reached down and methodically withdrew his black-bladed commando knives from sheaths on both thighs. It was an invitation to Kimball who lowered his weapon to the floor and withdrew his own knives.

“Now,” said Obadiah, the points of his blades pointing wickedly. “I would be so honored to be the one to kill the legend.”

Kimball took a fighting stance. “Don’t count on it.”

They closed the gap swinging the blades with precision and savagery.

Dust and feathers floated with cloying thickness. When Shari pulled back from the pope she saw that the floor was marked by countless holes inches apart. How she and the pope escaped the volley was beyond her, but she couldn’t quite rule out a miracle either. Removing dusty blankets from the pope, she saw he was untouched by the fusillade. His eyes were glazed with fever, his skin hot to the touch, but he smiled and raised a bony hand to brush his fingers softly against her cheek. “I thought you said I was safe, young lady.”

She returned his smile. “You are now. For some reason I have the feeling Kimball got involved.”

“You know something?” the pope said. “I think you might be right.”

The blades deflected off one another as they fought viciously. With metal striking metal sparks flew abundantly before dying out, only for new ones to take their place. Each man moved with poise and skill, their actions motivated by instinct rather than deduction since their movements were too fast for the mind to comprehend the next move.

Obadiah came across in a series of upper cuts and horizontal slashes, while Kimball countered with deflections and straight jabs, his maneuvers also deflected. In Kimball’s mind he was amazed how good this man was with double-edge weapons. He had never actually been tested before, until now.

As their arms moved with blinding speed, Obadiah came across and slashed Kimball’s vest, the razor sharpness of the knife cutting easily through the Kevlar. Vests, after all, were made to stop bullets, not knives.

Backing off for the moment, Kimball reexamined his position while Obadiah paced from left to right like a caged animal.

“You’re good,” he told Kimball. “But not good enough.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.”

“Then let’s get this over with,” he said. “I’ve things to do and people to kill.”

They converged on each other for the last time.

Those who had seen the perforated floor were amazed it was still strong enough to support weight. The aged and decimated wood protested beneath Leviticus and Isaiah as they carefully removed the pope and placed him in the care of the Metro Unit, who quickly ushered the man away under the cloaking of their shields. The Descending Angels examined and secured every room on the third floor, while the ground troops maintained their post on the first floor entryway and stairwell.

Leviticus drew close to Shari.

“The pope is in good hands,” he told her in hushed tones. “So we must go.” He turned toward Micah’s body. “We’ll be taking him with us. There can be no questions.”

“I understand.”

Isaiah stood beside them. “Kimball will meet us on his own terms,” he said. “But we’re thankful for all you’ve done.”

Isaiah and Leviticus dropped to a bended knee and placed a closed fist over their hearts. “Loyalty above all else,” they whispered, “except Honor.”

Shari felt absolutely flattered at this display of gratitude to the point of feeling the sting of tears. Then, placing a closed fist over her heart, said, “Loyalty above all else, except Honor.”

For her, this was closure.

Milling with the Descending Angels and ground troops, Isaiah unobtrusively lifted the body of Micah and draped it over the shoulders of Leviticus, trying to give the impression of a ‘man down’ requiring immediate medical attention. Shari watched the two Knights merge into the crowd and within moments they were gone.

Only when Kimball didn’t answer his mike did she become concerned.

The blades moved faster, beyond the comprehension of human sight, their arms moving in blurs and blinding rotations as each man’s brow drew the sweat of his efforts. Neither man rescinded his space, maintaining his territory. And neither man by the plateau of his pride was willing to concede to defeat by the fatigue beginning to weigh on both of them.

Breathless, both men reached into their inner selves and mustered whatever reserve power they had left before being entirely sapped.

When Obadiah finally went in for a stabbing motion, Kimball came down and slashed his blade across Obadiah’s forearm, a score that severed the muscle that incapacitated him.

With a savage cry Obadiah dropped his knife and looked skyward, the veins in his neck sticking out in cords. When Kimball went for the kill, Obadiah rotated on his feet like a matador dodging the course of a charging bull, and came around with a solid kick that sent Kimball across the floor and over the edge of the collapsed stairwell. Dropping his knives, Kimball reached for the exposed rebar and grabbed it before plunging to the debris below. When he tried to pull himself up, Obadiah was standing at the edge of the concrete holding a hand over his wounded arm, the blood flowing freely between his fingers as he looked down on Kimball.

“You’re indeed a truly magnificent warrior,” he said. “But tell me, that crest and shield on your vest. Is it a symbol of your squad? Or is it the marking’s of something else?”

Kimball tried to pull himself up, but Obadiah placed a foot upon the rebar, his weight bending the bar downward.

“Your style is different,” added Obadiah.

When Kimball’s hands slid downward along the bar, he reaffirmed his grip.

“Who are you?” asked Obadiah. “You’re not with the FBI, that much is for certain. Your style is too unique, and I thought I had seen them all.” When Obadiah bent down, the blood of his forearm dripped on Kimball. In the background the opposing forces were moving in, but Obadiah didn’t seem too concerned by their apparent approach in Kimball’s view. “You’re not the Swiss Guard, either. As good as they are, you fight like no other. So again, who are—”

Obadiah turned to check the progress of the troops. Given this window of opportunity, Kimball lunged up, grabbed Obadiah by the front of his shirt, and pulled him over the edge.

Too surprised to utter in protest, Obadiah traversed the open space to the debris below.

When the troops finally reached the precipice, a commando reached down and aided a tired Kimball Hayden to the landing.

“Are you all right?” asked the assault team leader.

“I’ll live,” said Kimball. He pointed to the rubble below. “You’ll need to contact Special Agent Cohen of the FBI regarding the man down there,” he said. “She’s in the building somewhere.”

The assault team leader looked over the debris. “What man?”

Kimball immediately sat up and looked over the edge.

Obadiah was gone.