Sinners and Saints Read online

  Kimball took note and counted six hostiles who were wearing the garments of a commando unit, such as the composite shield guards, the Kevlar helmets, and the fact that each man carried an MP7. This was not a fly-by-night faction, Kimball considered, especially when their transports were a pair of Mil Mi-24s, this alone telling him that there could be a Russian tie here. But when he heard the commandos speak out aggressively, there was no doubt in Kimball’s mind who these people were: they were North Koreans.

  He watched two of them move toward a specific room with their weapons leveled, no doubt knowing exactly where their mark was, and forced the door open to a particular roomette. The one taking lead directed his weapon at a man who looked like an unmade bed. And if there was ever a man who seemed less like a threat to anyone, Kimball considered, it was the man they were holding at gunpoint.

  Kimball watched them from the corner of the window’s pane.

  A second man entered the room, grabbed what appeared to be a canister, stepped back into the hallway, and unscrewed a cap from the bottom. Slowly retracting the cap and holding it up to the first commando, multi-colored lights pulsated from vials that contained what appeared to be glowing gems. The man in possession, however, was highly cautious as to how he handled them.

  Then after a brief exchange of words that Kimball couldn’t quite hear, one soldier forcibly ushered the man into the corridor and to his knees. Seeing two bodies lying supine, the disheveled-looking man retched reflexively, though the heaves were dry.

  There was a man standing sentinel close to Kimball’s position, a soldier who had his eyes trained to what was playing out at the other end of G-car. Here stood a possible opportunity, though the consequences of what followed could be too high should Kimball involve himself with the rules of engagement. But caution ruled and Kimball remained on the fence; the stakes for now too high, the odds too low.

  “It appears that you have been given a choice as to which path to take,” whispered Becher.

  Kimball turned to see the old man’s head peeking around the corner of their roomette. He was apparently on his hands and knees, his head no more than two feet above the floor.

  “Get back inside,” Kimball whispered in return.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” Kimball returned.

  “Listen to me,” Becher whispered. “You think this is by chance?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A charter train commandeered by hostile forces.” And then: “I heard gunfire. Anyone injured?”

  Kimball showed Becher two fingers. “Two dead,” he told him.

  “Innocents?”

  Kimball nodded. Yes.

  Then from Becher: “Anyone else in the crosshairs?”

  “Some guy who doesn’t look like he’s capable of fighting off a fly.”

  “Kimball, the three principles of a Vatican Knight: protect the interests of the church; the sovereignty of the state; and the welfare of its citizenry.”

  “I know the principles,” he whispered back harshly.

  “My point, Kimball, is that I cannot respond as I once could. I’m an old man in the twilight of my life. My opportunities to make amends have come and gone. But here’s an opportunity—perhaps a test—that has been granted to you for whatever reason. A path has been shown to you, Kimball. You can sit back and let matters ride, hoping nobody else gets hurt…Or you can get involved, for which many may be killed in the process. So which path do you take? Salvation? Stand by and hope that nobody else gets injured…Or damnation? Choosing to kill those whom you believe will do harm to others.”

  “There’s nothing divine about this.” Kimball fired back.

  “Nevertheless, two paths have been provided and now you must choose. Damnation or salvation.”

  Kimball returned his attention to the man who was absolutely submissive, and a coward at heart because in life he had been nothing but kind and gentle. When this man looked up and saw Kimball in the attached car, Kimball could see the man’s eyes drop to the cleric collar he was wearing. Then their eyes met, the man’s fixed connection pleading to Kimball for some kind of intervention, celestial or otherwise. Then Kimball backed away from the window and got to a knee to mull over the winning percentages to intervene against overwhelming odds. Two people already lay dead, two innocent lives snuffed out because they didn’t respond quickly enough to the likings of the invading faction. If Kimball remained idle, the chance of the team vacating the train with no more fatalities was highly probable, though not a given. But could he allow the extraction of the disheveled-looking man? Could Kimball sacrifice him, knowing that one life lost was better for the welfare of the whole?

  Kimball closed his eyes.

  And he continued to think.

  What was inside the canister? he wondered.

  The way it was handled with care, could it be harmful? Perhaps a chemical of some kind? A deadly nodule or capsule that could turn into a deadly gas? Perhaps something different altogether? All these uncertainties went through Kimball’s mind as if caution was inherent and a reason to question.

  “There’s a divide in the path for which you must choose, Kimball,” Becher whispered over the constant clack-clack-clack of the train’s wheels over the rails. “It won’t be there too much longer.”

  Kimball shot Becher a look which told the old man that he was wired to respond in the only way he could, despite what the world of Light and Loving Spirits may think.

  Kimball then got to his full height and looked down at Becher, whose head was still two feet above the floor, the man being careful. Then evenly, he said, “I kill people. It’s what I do…It’s what I’m good at.” The Vatican Knight turned his attention on the sentinel standing by the doorway between H- and G-cars. Quietly, he slid the door open to the landing between the trains, and made his way forward like a seasoned predator stalking its prey.

  Becher, from his position close to the floor, smiled as he watched Kimball leave the car and thought to himself with approval: You have chosen…wisely.

  * * *

  When Ásbjörn Bosshart was ushered from the roomette, he stumbled to his knees in the corridor. Timewise, everything was moving as planned with five minutes left. The target was in their possession—with Bosshart being a valuable asset in his own right—along with the antimatter.

  Falling to his knees after a shove from a Korean, Bosshart lifted his chin to see a man watching from the adjoining car. A priest who wore the collar of Roman Catholicism. But the man looked upon him with neutrality rather than pity, hardly like a man of pious nature.

  When Bosshart tried to convey to the priest that he needed help, the man ducked to the side and out of sight. Apparently his answer was ‘no.’ There would be no help from a higher or divine power, nor from a man who dressed as a priest.

  Ásbjörn Bosshart was alone.

  After being forced to his feet, Bosshart looked toward the opposite end of the car. From the attached car someone was moving forward, slowly and cautiously, the man edging closer with silent purpose. Around his neck was the pristine white band of a priest’s collar, a man of religion who, perhaps, meant to intervene by reasoning with the captors, an outside shot.

  But there was something different about this person, he considered. He moved like a man on the prowl rather than a man who wanted to barter for the welfare of a stranger. And then what he saw this man do next, Ásbjörn Bosshart knew this man was not a priest at all since no priest could move or act in the capacity that he did.

  The man came.

  And then the man went.

  Silently.

  Then Bosshart asked himself: What are you?

  Though the answer eluded him, he had no idea that he had just witnessed what so few have lived to tell about.

  He had just seen the priest who was not a priest.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Office of the Federal Criminal Police

  Geneva, Switzerla
nd

  Andolf Bauer, along with Vatican SIV Directors Auciello and Essex, were working in collusion regarding the missing daughter of Ásbjörn Bosshart. It was now determined that Bosshart had been coerced to commit the theft on behalf of a shadow group, and Emily Bosshart was being used as the strings to manipulate the marionette, which happened to be her father.

  To locate Emily Bosshart was to discover the cabal behind the operation that pressured the scientist to compromise his position within The CERN. And since she was the key to a litany of questions and the first standing domino in a long line of dominoes, with each domino a question that could topple the next until all the obstructing pieces had been leveled, then and only then could an accusing finger be directed to an enemy who currently had no face.

  Now that the powers of the FCP had been relegated to possible kidnapping charges regarding Emily Bosshart, the Vatican weighed in because Interpol was concentrating their efforts on Ásbjörn Bosshart and the misappropriated goods.

  Since the truck appeared headed toward the Austrian border, contact was forwarded from the FCP to Austrian authorities to be on the lookout for a military vehicle of said description, which may try to breach Austrian checkpoints under false pretenses.

  So far, however, nothing. The vehicle having disappeared while en route, the eye-in-the-sky eventually losing contact due to low-atmospheric positional changes with an eye toward brewing conflicts in the Middle East.

  That left Bauer with one conjecture: “They’re most likely held up in Switzerland,” said Bauer. “The question is: Where? Austria is maintaining a heavy watch along their boundary lines.”

  Since the Vatican’s SIV unit was one of the best in the world that rivaled the likes of the Mossad and the CIA, and to assure its continued safety against opposing forces that may pose a threat to the sovereignty of Vatican City, the agency had the ability to link into geospatial satellites that the FCP could not, since the FCP was not a classified intel group with global jurisdiction.

  They would be able to tap into multiple satellite feeds from stationary units that were non-military which mainly concentrated on weather patterns over specific areas. But to do this was like piecing together parts of a puzzle with several stilled images from several different feeds. From what they already knew, they were able to map out the truck’s eastbound trajectory by tapping into other satellites to triangulate the vehicle’s last known position using logical reasoning to identify a possible direction of where the truck may have been going. To do this, however, they took several satellite photos and pieced them together to create a huge terrain map on the corkboard wall. Then they added images from other satellites that centered on points north of the eastbound route and also checking roads to the south, the process time consuming but not exhaustively overwhelming. And then additional hypotheses were made stating that perhaps the faction had changed vehicles while en route, which was a possibility.

  Nearly thirty minutes into the process of photo-piecing, however, they discovered what they believed may have been the vehicle in question. So they concentrated on the path of this particular truck. Calls were made to military facilities which confirmed that no trucks had been dispatched or authorized to take eastbound routes to the Austrian border.

  So Bauer, along with Fathers Essex and Auciello, were sure they had found the vehicle in question, and the one that had vacated the warehouse. Despite this, there was no palpable evidence other than circumstantial to suggest they were the ones who had terminated the life of Nann Bosshart, or kidnapped her daughter. But the timeline of the truck’s entrance into the warehouse to the time of Nann Bosshart’s murder and the truck’s departure, strongly suggested that she was killed during their occupancy.

  So the Vatican adjusted live feeds from assisting satellites to zoom in on the location of the trucks final destination, which was approximately 80 kilometers from the Austrian border. From continuous feeds they could see a net-canopy topped with brush hiding their position. But the netting could clearly be seen with wide gaps to reveal modules underneath, which they believed to be a mobile command center.

  “It could be the party involved with the kidnapping of Bosshart’s daughter,” Bauer said. “But I’ll need more than just these feeds to confirm hostile intent before I can send in a specialized team.” Even though the Federal Criminal Police had a Special Forces unit trained for such scenarios, Bauer knew he could not assemble or mobilize a team so distant from central command in Zurich, especially on a theory that was based on a deductive whim. What he needed was irrefutable evidence.

  Father Auciello said: “An FCP unit won’t be necessary. The Vatican will provide the means and support to confirm and confront any hostile elements, as well as to secure Emily Bosshart.”

  “And if this proves not to be the hostile elements we’re looking for?”

  “Then the Vatican will extract the unit and we’ll continue our search.” Father Auciello turned toward the photos that had been pinned to the board, and pointed to the spot of the camp. “The established time of death regarding Nann Bosshart puts her inside that warehouse during the occupancy of whomever it was that was inside that truck when it drove off. The truck may also have been the transport vehicle of Emily Bosshart. Speculation, at best. But it’s something we need to follow up on. If Emily Bosshart was on that truck, then she’s inside that camp. What we need to establish is why the camp is there. Are they waiting for someone? Are they setting up a base command to launch and direct attacks of terrorism? Something else altogether?”

  Bauer said: “Your team, the Vatican Knights, they’ll have to go in quickly since time is not a luxury. The train will be in the Dead Zone for at least an hour. Once they exit the area, communication will become attainable to those onboard. Should this mobile command station along the Austrian border learn that your man has neutralized the situation onboard that train before a transfer can be made in Rome…I believe they’ll kill the girl.”

  A child, thought Father Auciello, who had become a pawn in the scheme of things simply because of her father, who himself appeared to be a victim. Somehow, to the priest this seemed somewhat vulgar and unacceptable.

  Within five minutes, Father Essex was on a direct line to Leviticus at the Vatican, who was the second-in-command of the Vatican Knights while Kimball Hayden was away. He informed the Vatican Knight that data would be coming his way and that their mission would be threefold: First, to verify and confirm intent, whether the intent is hostile or benign, and act accordingly to the situation. Secondly, the objective was to locate and extract a nine-year-old child, a girl. And thirdly, time was extremely limited, meaning that the assault would have to be quick and efficient, which were the hallmark traits of the Vatican Knights. Information regarding the camp’s coordinates would be forwarded along with a recent photo of the high-priority package, Emily Bosshart. Then it would be up to Leviticus to put his team together and complete the mission.

  After Father Essex killed the call, he turned to Bauer and Father Auciello. “It’s a go,” he told them. “The Vatican Knights are on the move.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Hall of the Vatican Knights

  Vatican City

  As soon as Leviticus set the phone aside, he was on the move and quickly established a unit which included Isaiah, Jonah, Jeremiah, Daniel and Malachi, all elite warriors who had been groomed to protect those who could not help themselves, from the moment they had been orphaned as children.

  They had suited up in the armory, had taken their weapons of choice, and now they were ready to march on to save the life of a young girl. Within minutes they were on their way to the airport with the sirens and lights of the transport vehicle permitted the right of way. Once at the airport, the Vatican Knights boarded a specific charter flight to the Austria-Switzerland border, where a chopper would be waiting to fly them to their designated coordinates.

  They were quick and efficient. And as they boarded they were given aerial maps of the camp in questio
n. Plans were made with each man given a specific duty designed to accommodate his personal skill set.

  The Vatican Knights were ready to go to war.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Kimball Hayden slowly opened the door to H-Car and stood upon the platform that divided him from G-car. It was cold, the temperature near freezing as the train zipped by with the neighboring mountain walls passing in a blur. Above him he could hear the whump-whump-whump of the choppers and noted that they continued their flight path directly above the cars, though they seemed to seesaw from side to side against the wind.

  Lowering his large frame, Kimball edged closer to G-Car’s open doorway, saw the man standing sentinel with his weapon leveled, and took two silent steps across the threshold. As the noise of the train’s wheels riding over the rails masked his footfalls, Kimball entered through the open doorway to G-Car, snaked a hand around the man’s chin, forced him out of the car and onto the platform, and snapped the man’s neck. After he grabbed the soldier’s weapon, he allowed the man to fall to the tracks beneath the wheels.

  Quickly stepping aside, Kimball checked the MP7, found it operational, and then he began to formulate a spur-of-the-moment plan of engagement.

  …whump-whump-whump…

  He looked skyward between the roofs of both cars where the sky was a patch of blue, and began to ascend the rungs of the ladder.

  …whump-whump-whump…

  As soon as Kimball reached topside with the weapon festooning around his back, he noticed that the end-clips from the rappelling lines were dragging back and forth along the rooftop. The choppers were positioned for an immediate extraction, which told Kimball that his time was minimal.

  Climbing on top of the train and getting to his belly, he discovered how difficult it was to cling to the smooth surface of a vehicle that traveled at a speed of 140 kilometers per hour, with the landscape on both sides passing by as fuzzy distortions.