Authors: Rick Jones
The president stood straight. And everyone in the room could
tell that the man was calculating. “Then we have no choice,” he finally said.
“We strike.”
The president was then quick to direct orders. “Contact
Boston’s FBI field office immediately,” he told Johnston. “I want them to set a
perimeter around the district with trained law enforcement personnel and
assault teams. I want our team from Quantico to conduct the mission. You do
agree, director, the Quantico Team is the best we have to offer?”
Johnston nodded. The Quantico CIRG Team, the Critical
Incident Response Group, trains for hours on end for such scenarios. “They can
do it in their sleep. It’ll take an hour, maybe an hour and a half to get the
team assembled, and perhaps another two for transport.”
“Too long,” piped Shari. “I have a CIRG Team already
assembled and willing to go as soon as transportation is ready.”
Johnston looked at her quizzically, not sure what she was
talking about. The CIRG Team is always posted at Quantico until called to duty.
She continued. “Mr. President, as far as I’m concerned, this
team is the best in the world. If they can’t pull off this mission, nobody
can.”
For a brief moment the president looked at her in an
appraising manner, neither good nor bad. And Shari had to question him.
“What is it this time, Mr. President? I know it’s not
because I’m Jewish, so is it because I’m a woman? You don’t think I have the
capabilities of a man to put forward the effort of a combat-trained soldier?”
“Forgive me, Ms. Cohen. I’m simply old school. Perhaps my
own prejudices have tainted my insight a bit.”
“I understand, Mr. President. But old school or not, what is
your answer?”
“Do it,” he said. And then, “You’ve surprised me, Ms. Cohen.
I might have been hard on you in the beginning, but you’ve made a believer of
me. I have complete faith in your abilities.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Just bring the pope back to us.”
“I will.”
“How long do you think it will take for your CIRG Team to be
ready?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“We’ll have transport ready.” He turned to the vice
president. “As for you,” he said, “you’re under house arrest until we can
figure out what to do with you.” The president motioned to his detail to
escort the vice president to his residence at the Naval Academy. “I’m sorry it
has to be like this, Jonas. I really am. And it’s for mismanagement reasons
like this that the Force Elite has to be disbanded . . . and it will be.”
The vice president remained seated while the president’s
detail surrounded him. When he was ready he stood, straightened his tie, and
tried to walk out of the office with dignity. It would be the last time he
would ever see any of them again. And he wanted to be remembered as someone who
went out stoically rather than cowardly.
As the vice president passed his former allies, many refused
to acknowledge his existence.
“Kimball?” Shari asked over the
phone.
“Yeah.”
“Yahweh confessed to the whereabouts of the pope.”
“Where?”
Even though he couldn’t see her, he could envision her
gesticulating with hand motions on her end of the line as if he was standing in
front of her. “He’s in an abandoned depository in Boston.”
“Boston!”
“They moved their operations to avoid the dragnet,” she
said. “The president wanted a Quantico Team to move in and do the chore
immediately, but it would take too long to assemble a team and get them ready
for transport. So as of right now, Kimball, you’re it. You and the rest of the
Vatican Knights. I need you pressed into duty and ready to go.”
“We’re ready now.”
“I know you are. I already informed the administration that
I have a team who’s prepped. But as far as they know,” she told him, “they
think it’s a Quantico squad. So you’ll need to lose the Roman collars to avoid
questions.”
“Understood. Where’s the depart point?”
She told him. Within twenty minutes they had met at the
point of departure, and in twenty-five minutes they were airborne and heading
for Boston.
#
Vice President Bohlmer
sat in
his study, his eyes vacant, but his mind toiled. Before him lay shelves of
books he’d collected over his lifetime. There were law books dealing with
torts, corporate and criminal law; biographies of every politician and
statesman ever published; and books about political theories of this country
and almost every other nation with a respectable government. In the process of
growing in a political entity as an official, he had learned from these books,
studied them and even gleaned theories to make the political machine run more efficient.
Ironically enough, he was now shelved like them.
A fire was burning in the fireplace, the wood snapping every
so often and sending sparks up the flue. But the vice president found no
comfort in such warmth.
His cause was dead, taken by the cancer of his own
aggression, his politics forever gone.
In self admonishment the vice president released a
regrettable sigh, not for what he did, but for getting caught. He had shamed
himself before the eyes of his peers and was thankful his wife, having been
dead six years, did not have to suffer the pang of being branded a political
pariah.
After getting to his feet, the vice president walked to the
foyer and checked on the Secret Service detail posted there by the president.
An agent stepped forward, his face as rigid as his posture,
his professionalism forced. “Is there anything I can help you with . . . sir?”
Sir? An hour ago it was Mr. Vice President.
“No. I’m fine,” he said. “Thank you.” Brandishing a false
smile, he closed the door to the study with a soft click and returned to his
chair.
Beneath the nightstand by the lounge chair laid a .38
caliber revolver hidden within a drawer, its chambers loaded. Its chrome-plated
barrel shimmered in hues of red and orange and yellow, the colors of the
burning fire. He picked up the pistol and examined his reflection in the
chrome, turning his head to the left, and then to the right, his image warped
in a funhouse mirror sort of way. And then in a quick and fluid motion, as if
without considering the consequences, he brought the gun to his temple and
pulled the trigger.
#
Boston, Massachusetts
September 28, Late Morning
The distance between
Washington D.C. and Boston is exactly four hundred and forty-eight miles. The
time it took for the Vatican Knights and Shari Cohen to arrive at Logan Airport
took just over an hour. Since the confession of the vice president, the
Response Team had been assembled and transported to their debark-point in less
than ninety minutes.
During their flight they had gone over the schematics of the
depository, committing every nuance of the floor plans to memory. They drew up
plans for entry and engagement and theorized the location of the pope and the
bishops of the Holy See. But no matter what, they knew the Force Elite had
prepared for every conceivable contingency regarding a breach of hostile forces
and counterattack. This would not be an easy assignment since the pope would
most likely be heavily guarded.
That catapults the probability of a teammate dying great.
So as required by papal order before any mission, the
Knights prepared themselves with prayer—except Kimball, who only found
confidence in the weapons he carried. And Shari knew that such a man as Kimball
Hayden could never be weaned from the savagery of his lifestyle. It was simply
a part of him.
As the aircraft sped toward Boston‘s Logan Airport, Shari
felt a pang for a man who was willing to commit a single selfless act to save
the life of the pope by putting his life at risk. No matter his past, no matter
the brutal force of nature that propelled him to commit the atrocities he did,
Shari hoped that Kimball Hayden would find the Light before he died.
She prayed he would find it soon.
Boston, Massachusetts
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.