Pandora's Ark (27 page)

It was Kimball’s cue to let the man go. He did, the
cardinal’s collar settling as bunched fabric along his left shoulder.

“So now what?” asked the cardinal. “Obviously you do not
intend to hear my pleas or take into consideration my request to remain here at
the Vatican.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Bonasero took a step closer,
intent on driving his point home. “You’re lucky, Giuseppe, that I don’t take
further action against you. Your blatant trespass into the papal chamber is
criminal enough. But let it be known that you will be watched. These men will
maintain constant vigil over you. No matter where you are. No matter what you
do. Believe me when I say that your every move is being watched. You won’t see
them. But trust me, they will see you.”

“And if I divulge your little secret society?”

Kimball placed his hand on the cardinal’s shoulder,
twisting the fabric until the collar tightened.

“I see,” said the cardinal. “You will keep me in line with
physical threats. How holy of you to allow this, Bonasero. How holy, indeed.”

“You’re a man of dark means, Giuseppe. And you don’t
deserve to wear the shrouds you don. I will not judge you. That’s not my right.
That right belongs to the Lord. And I pray that He can somehow forgive you for
what you have done.” Bonasero held out his hand. “Now give me the key,” he
ordered. “Return to the dormitory and never use the ancient corridors again.
You will be assigned soon, Giuseppe, very soon. And may God have mercy on your
soul.” The pontiff then flexed his fingers quickly, a gesture that he was ready
to accept the key.

Giuseppe stared a long moment, could feel his power slipping,
could sense that everything he worked for was forever lost to him.
Begrudgingly, he reached his hand into his pocket, grabbed the key, and handed
it to Bonasero by dropping it into his palm.

“I assume you used a light to get here? The ancient tunnels
are dark.”

“I left the light at the ancient doorway.”

“These men will escort you back to the way you entered.
Once gone, Giuseppe, I want you to know that the door will be forever sealed.”
And then: “Have a good night.” 

Giuseppe could feel himself cave. He had lost everything.
His drives, his ambition, his dream, perhaps even his soul.

After Kimball and Leviticus ushered him to the ancient
doorway, Cardinal Angullo grabbed the light, turned it on, and stepped onto the
top stair leading down into the corridor. When the door closed behind him it
was if the hollow click was more than just a sound, but a climatic end to his
rise, the closing door a metaphorical suggestion that his time was truly up.  

Taking the steps with his shoulders lowered in defeat, Cardinal
Giuseppe Angullo made his way back through the corridors that looked so much like
an artist’s rendition of Hell, that of complete and utter darkness with no hope
of seeing the light.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Vatican City, Inside the SIV Command Center

Bonasero
Vessucci and Kimball were inside the SIV Command Center alongside Fathers Essex
and Auciello. They sat along a console before multiple screens watching the world
play out before them from live satellite feeds. They watched the skirmishes in
the southern Philippines, the multiple atrocities going on in Africa, and the
rampaging crusades in the Middle East and Syria. The world was a mess, and the
messes were piling high.

Father Auciello toyed with a dial, zooming in on a location
in the Alborz region. On the master screen he singled in on the coordinates
given by a Mossad agent who was able to send an encrypted message to Tel Aviv
regarding an unchartered facility dealing with the manufacturing of a WMD. From their overhead vantage point they could spy down and zoom in to the point where they
could see the two gunnery nests and the fuel cells lining the ridgeline. They
also spotted a helipad and a lot with two canvas-covered transport vehicles to
carry mobile units.

“We’ve been staying on top of Mossad since their mention of
the Ark of the Covenant,” said Auciello, playing the dial until the screen came
into sharp focus. “It appears that the operative got a message out regarding
the facility’s clandestine operations.”

“Creating weapons of mass destruction,” Kimball commented.

“Exactly. Furthermore, he’s confirming the location of the
Ark.” He took his hand away from the dial. “It’s there, gentlemen, inside that
facility. The question is: why place the Ark of the Covenant inside a
manufacturing center that is constructing a weapon of mass destruction? Why
take the Ark from the grounds of the Temple Mount and send it to the Alborz
region? What’s their purpose? Or do they have a purpose? What’s their agenda?”

They were solid inquiries that nobody had answers to, the
questions serving as ill-fitting pieces to a vague puzzle.

Kimball shifted in his seat and studied the screen, his
eyes squinting in the quasi-darkness. He absorbed the makeup of the land, the
surrounding paths and the serpentine road that led to the facility. He marked
the gunnery nests in his mind and noted the helipad at the ridgeline close to
the fenced-in fuel cells. He was tracing a map in his mind.

“We also intercepted messages from Prime Minster Netanyahu
and his Defense Minster,” added Essex, “to the president of the United States
conveying Israel’s concern that the facility poses a major threat to Israel’s
sovereignty; therefore, they are in the planning stages of committing to a
preemptive strike against the facility in the near future should they decide to
act, even though it’s against the wishes of the United States for fear of
rising fuel costs, as well as placing Israel on the verge of war with Iran,
which may incite other Arab nations to join in the skirmish. Right now Israel
is on the fence leaning towards attack, but the United States is stalling them.”

“If they strike, then the Ark will be lost forever,” said
Bonasero.

“If they should strike,” said Essex. “Israel hasn’t fully committed
yet.”

“It is never the Church’s intent to get involved with
political events or the involvements of warring government factions, but the
Ark is a sacred relic and an interest of the Church,” he said. “In this case,
we know where the Ark of the Covenant is. We also know that this facility is in
the process of creating a weapon of mass destruction that may undermine the
stability of the Middle East, should Israel commit to an airstrike. Should that
be the case, then the Ark will be forever lost.”

Kimball knew where this was going.

The pope faced the Vatican Knight. “Good could be borne
from evil,” he said to him evenly. “We know where the Ark is, we know the
intent of this facility. We send in a team to extract the Ark and destroy the
facility before Israel commits to battle. That way, Israel cannot be held
responsible, though an accusing finger will most certainly be pointed their
way.”  Bonasero stood, laboring to a stance, then moved closer to the screen.
“We get the Ark, take out the facility, and place Israel in a position to avert
war.”

“Bonasero, this won’t be an easy task,” said Kimball.
“We’re talking about breaching a highly-secured facility manned by Quds, an
elite force. Not an easy task.” Kimball pointed to the screen. “The landscape
is elevated, giving them the advantage of the high point. There’s one road
leading in and out of the area—not good for escape should factions come up on
the rear and box us in. The facility itself is secured with gunnery nests
overlooking the entryway. Combat space is minimal. The only positive is the
helipad, which could be a viable method of escape should a helicopter be
stationed there. Even then we would be in Iranian air space and the chopper too
slow to outrun their jets.”

“You have to have faith, Kimball. There’s a solution for
everything.”

“Bonasero, you’re asking me to place my men into a
situation that’s impossible.”

The pontiff returned to his seat. “You’re a Vatican
Knight,” he said softly. “And of course your skills and insight are invaluable,
and your insight to combat far greater than mine. But we’re not talking just
about the Ark of the Covenant here. We’re talking about a weapon that could
destroy countless lives, perhaps even initiate a war between nations where
untold scores of innocent people die. We are in a position to do something
about this. You and your team have the skills to pull this off.”

Kimball held back for a moment, contemplating. He had
performed missions in the past hinging on the thought that they were impossible
to pull off, the risks too high, the outcome deemed too low to be successful.
But he had come to learn over time that the word ‘impossible’ didn’t mean that
something couldn’t be done; it only measured the degree of difficulty.

“It’ll have to be quick,” he finally said. “How long before
Israel commits to a strike, you think?”

Father Essex shrugged, hazarding a guess. “Two, maybe three
days at the most. I can’t speak for Israeli’s Defense agency. I can only give
you what I have, which is that Israel is non-committal at this time. But I don’t
think they’ll hang in that balance too much longer. Sooner or later they’ll
make a decision. And I believe that decision will be to commit to a strike,
whether they have the approval of the United States or not.” 

Kimball asked Auciello to zoom out in order to give him a
much more overhead view and spread of the layout. The area was mountainous, one
ridgeline higher than the other heading to the west. Obviously the road was
out, not a good strategy to take since it would be highly manned with security.
They would have to get to the facility another way. And then deal with the
gunnery nests and the Quds. They would have to breach the complex, exit with
the Ark, destroy the fuel cells, and escape. His head was spinning. No matter
how he looked at it, no matter from what angle or vantage point, he saw nothing
positive, the requirements too much to overcome.

“How are we going to get the Ark out of there?” he asked
softly. “We could commandeer one of the trucks; put the Ark in the back. But
then we’d be running a gauntlet to get away since there’s only one road leading
to the lower elevation where I’m sure the opposition will be waiting.”

“There’s the helipad,” said Essex. “Once you engage and
clear the area, then we can land a chopper big enough to carry the Ark and the
Knights. Run your combat mission, grab the Ark, set the charges at the fuel
cells, and then off we go. We can fly low enough to escape radar detection. But
if we fly too low, and given that we have to run at night, poses a problem
since we’d be flying at low attitudes in a mountain range. We’ll have to go in
with NVG capability and fly northwest to Turkey.”

“And the pilot?”

“We have operatives with exceptional ability,” said
Auciello. “We employ a select few who are pilots in service with the Vatican
through the
Aeronautica Milatare
. They’re mission is to serve the
Church with no questions asked.”

“So we have the
means of escape,” said Kimball. “We can set off an explosive at the fuel cells
from a cell phone inside the chopper once we’re airborne, leveling the facility
if the fuel cells are volatile enough. All that remains is how are we going to
get to the facility without drawing the opposition’s fire.” He studied the map
further. And then: “Father Essex, that ridge to the west, what’s its elevation
point compared to the ridgeline of the facility?”

Essex went to a keyboard and typed in commands, the image going from sky view to ground
view. From there he was able to calculate the differences. The ridgeline
Kimball inquired about was approximately 2,200 feet higher than the facility’s.
There was his vantage point. “And how far away is it?” he asked. Essex drew a computerized ruler from point A to point B. The distance was two clicks,
approximately one-point-two miles.

Perfect! Now he
had his entry point.

“And how do you
plan to do that?” asked Bonasero

 “We can’t risk
choppers for entry,” said Father Essex. “It would be too risky. You’d have to
go in silent.”

“Going in by
chopper was the furthest thing from my mind,” he answered.

“Then how do you
plan to breach the compound?” ask Bonasero. “Do you plan to fly in on the wings
of eagles?”

Kimball smiled
slyly and nodded. “Close,” he said. “Very close.”

No one knew what
he was talking about.

And then, after
getting to his feet, Kimball said, “We need to move.”

#

Tel
Aviv, Israel, Mossad Headquarters

“The
United States does not approve of our stance,” said Yitzhak Paled. He sat
behind his desk with his hands clasped together in an attitude of prayer. The
top button of his shirt was undone, the knob of his tie lowered. On the mini
screen on his desk was the Defense Minister, Ehud Barak. “They feel that Iran
will retaliate and press us into war. What they fail to see is that Iran has
already made that decision.”

Barak appeared somber. The inevitable had finally come to
Israel’s doorstep. “Then we will act accordingly,” he said. “The IDF is on
alert. However, the prime minister is not without political etiquette. He is
informing the United States that there is no other alternative as we speak. War
may be inevitable, Yitzhak. Hopefully, should their president lend his support,
it might be enough to deter other Arab nations from uniting with Iran with
military efforts.”

From his end Yitzhak could hear Barak’s line drone. On
screen, he watched Barak wave his hand at him as a gesture to be excused and picked
up the phone.

“I see,” he said into the phone, nodding. “Yes . . . I
understand.” He hung up and stared at the phone as if expecting it to ring
again. It didn’t. So he faced Yitzhak through the monitor. “That was the
Ramatkal
at the IDF,” he said.

And
?

Barak leaned closer to the
screen. “The command was given. We attack the facility within the next twenty-four
hours without the support of the United States.”