The Iscariot Agenda (26 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Vatican City

Chamber of the Society of Seven

In a restricted chamber situated deep in the lower level of the Basilica, seven chairs were situated on a marble platform rising four feet from the floor. The pope’s chair was layered with gold leaf and beheld the ornate carvings of angels and cherubs along the framework. The second chair was smaller and less imaginative, the wood carvings around the framing not as aesthetic as that of the papal seat, but was crafted well enough to draw the attention of an appreciative eye, nonetheless. This was the chair of the good Cardinal Bonasero Vessucci. The five remaining chairs, although less ornate by comparison, maintained detailed images of winged angels thrumming harpsichords along the wood framing, the cherubs smiling, the images harmonious.

With a soft tracing of his fingertips, Cardinal Vessucci sat in his chair and guided them over the images. It would also be the last time he would ever sit in this chair again, he considered.

From the end of the long corridor the large wooden doors held together by steel bands and rivets opened, the room sounding off with the hollow echo of the door closing behind Kimball as he made his way to the staging area.

He noted that Cardinal Vessucci sat alone, his shoulders slumped in defeat, the look of saddened dismay not a good sign.

“Bonasero,” Kimball pointed to the empty chairs, “where are the others?”

The cardinal struggled to his feet. “There are no others,” he told him. And then he labored his way to the pope’s chair and ran his fingers lovingly over the throne. “Great men used to sit here,” he added, “justifying the fates of good and decent people. Unfortunately, this chair will no longer be occupied ever again.”

Kimball took a step forward. “Are you saying Pope Gregory is disbanding the Vatican Knights?”

“Not only is he . . . but he has.”

The cardinal went to the edge of the staging area and held out his hand. “Please, Kimball, I need a helping hand down.”

Kimball aided the cardinal down the four steps, a laborious task for the aging cardinal.

When they were rooted below the stage they stared up at the empty row of chairs. And something awful like a mournful loss hung over them.

“During World War Two,” began the cardinal, “a Nazi defector absconded from his regiment because he had witnessed unbearable atrocity after unbearable atrocity, and took refuge within the shadows of the Vatican. When the Nazi’s began to invade the territory of Rome with the threat to reseat the papal throne to Germany under Goering’s command, this one soldier swore that he would protect those who could not protect themselves. In time, as the Nazi regime was falling on all fronts, this one man offered to protect the sovereignty of the Church and the welfare of its citizenry. He became the first Vatican Knight. And it was in this chamber that Pope Pius XII consecrated this soldier to serve the Church in the capacity that Loyalty was to be above all else, except Honor. Now with the passing of Pope Pius XIII, I’m afraid it all comes to a sudden end.” He turned to Kimball, the hurt on his face obvious. “I just thought it fitting, my friend, that I see you here, in this chamber, where it all began.”

Kimball stared up at the seats. It was odd to see them vacant. And the chamber held an odd and sepulchral quiet to it, something eerie and hollow.

“I thought it important that you hear it from me first,” he told Kimball. “You are the best of the best. But more importantly, as a good person, you’ve come a long way.”

Kimball felt ashamed. How does he tell a man who offered him the chance at redemption that his blood boiled with the underlying passion to kill Ezekiel? He was no savior. He was just a simple man whose dream of salvation came and went like a wispy comma of smoke. Ezekiel had shown him the truth. Underneath, there was darkness.

And if there was one thing Cardinal Vessucci was skilled at, it was seeing the insight of all people. Behind Kimball’s brilliant cerulean blue eyes he noted something dark. “You’re still angry,” he said, but not as a question. “The betrayal of the child you reared has consumed you with rage, hasn’t it?”

“I tried to do the right thing.”

“Of course you did, Kimball. But the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“I had no idea he recognized me the day I saw him in the Boys’ Home.”

“Apparently he did. And by doing so he turned his rage into a crusade.”

They began to walk away from the stage and toward the chamber doors.

“Kimball, he sees you as the betrayer of his grandfather. And now he holds the same animosity as you do. It’s an ugly feeling. But you’re better than that if you believe it or not.”

“He killed Job and Joshua.”

“And for that God will judge him for it, not you.”

Kimball sighed, their steps small since the cardinal moved along with light footfalls. “You have become a good man, Kimball. Stay that way and let your anger go. Ezekiel has cast his fate in the eyes of God and will be judged thusly.”

Still, something continued to smolder deep inside Kimball.

“And what will you do?” asked Kimball.

The cardinal stopped in his tracks. “It appears that I have been demoted,” he answered.

“To what?”

“The good Pope Gregory saw fit that I be reassigned to a post in Boston where there is apparently indiscretions going on with alleged charges of fraud. The Pope sees me as the most judicious in handling such matters.”

“And who will be the new secretary of state?”

“It appears that the good Cardinal Angullo will usurp my position.”

Kimball ground his teeth.

“And what about those in the Society of Seven?”

“They will also be reassigned, as well.”

So that’s it. Everything about the Vatican Knights was being dispersed to all corners of the planet, broken and scattered like ashes cast to the wind.

“Kimball, you have earned the right.”

“The right about what?”

Cardinal Vessucci faced him and smiled. “For redemption,” he said. “It’s yours. It has been yours for a while now.”

For a moment Kimball could feel his heart skip a beat in his chest. It was a glorious feeling.

“You have earned it many times over,” said the cardinal. “So don’t let Ezekiel blacken your heart. Instead, fill it with forgiveness.”

They were nearing the colossal door.

“So what will you do now?” asked the cardinal.

Kimball shrugged. Good question. “I don’t know,” he said. “This is all I know what to do.”

Kimball reached down and grabbed the wrought-iron ring of the door and opened it, the door whining on its aged hinges.

“The team is already gone,” said the cardinal. “You are the last. But I want to say this.” Both men stared through the open door, drawing a bead on empty chairs on the stage. “You have become a son to me. And I’m proud of you, as was Pope Pius and Pope John. You have always been a dear man and I will never forget you, Kimball.”

Kimball could feel the sting of tears. He was losing his entire family in one fell swoop.

“So I guess this is it?” said Kimball.

The cardinal stood there, staring, the stage a magnificent display where ideas were exchanged and history made.

“Who knows,” he finally answered. “Maybe you’ll be pressed back into duty someday.”

“But not likely.”

The cardinal did not acknowledge him. Instead, he said, “Please . . . Close the door.”

Slowly, Kimball closed the mammoth door until neither man could see the stage any longer.

EPILOGUE

Kimball did not return directly to the barracks to gather his gear. Instead, he walked the grounds through St. Peter’s Square, through the Basilica, past the Colonnades and sat by the Old Gardens until the late afternoon sky was turning into banded shades of red, orange and yellow. 

Here he had found peace unlike anything ever encountered.

Gathering himself for the short walk to the barracks, Kimball found himself vacillating between old emotions against new. Sure enough he stewed underneath, but at the same time he was warring over the fact that there was serenity, each faction seesawing against the other.

Perhaps there was validity in the cardinal’s words after all
, he considered.

But if questions remained regarding how he felt about Ezekiel, then he wasn’t completely there. If anything, Ezekiel had become a much greater test on whether or not he should follow through and kill him to settle an underlying need, or to find forgiveness and let him move on.

Either way, he needed closure.

Making his way to the barracks was almost a physically painful task; the empty rooms, the one-time laughter of Vatican Knights echoing off the stone walls after an off-key joke was told no longer, and the smell of baked meats wafting through the hallways from the Mess.

Now it was empty with a tomblike stillness.

Once inside his room he sat on the edge of his bed and slightly grazed a hand over the soft fabric of the blanket, a loving caress.

He would take his military manuals, his military gear, and stuff as much of his life into a canvas duffel bag.

Everything I have to show for my life
, he thought.

And this was not much.

After cramming his goods into the bag, he laid it next to the door and stood within the room’s center. To one side was the small dais holding the Bible, as well as the votive rack and kneeling rail. To the other was a super-single-sized bed, a nightstand and bookshelves for his manuals. Comparatively speaking it was far from luxury, but it was his home. But he could not have been happier.

Kimball then moved to the mirror and stared at his reflection, noting crows-feet that were becoming longer and deeper. If there was one thing this man could not defeat, it was aging.

So what will you do now
?

He traced his fingers gingerly over his image.

And then he worked them down to the cleric’s collar.

And then he worked his fingers further downward to the patch of the Vatican Knights etched on the breast pocket of his cleric’s shirt, the image of the powder blue shield and silver Pattée with the supporting heraldic lions holding it steady.

It was a nice ride
, he told himself. And then he removed the band of the cleric’s collar and held it in his hand.

For a long time he stared at it, thinking what it meant to him: Loyalty above all else, except Honor. And then he placed it neatly on top of the Bible on the dais.

Grabbing the duffel bag, Kimball took one last look, absorbing everything. High on the wall was the stained glass window of the Virgin Mother, her arms reaching out as a gesture of acceptance and the willingness to embrace those in need.

Although the light of the sun was beginning to wane, a thin beam of light cast from the Virgin Mary’s hands alighted on the cleric’s collar, giving it a glowing appeal that appeared ethereal in its effect.

In less than three steps Kimball crossed the room and looked at the collar, then at the image of the Virgin Mother.

The sun was going down.

And the glow of the collar was fading fast.

Kimball grabbed the band with a sense of homage and carefully placed it in his pocket.

Maybe someday you’ll be pressed back into duty
; he recalled the cardinal saying.

But Kimball knew this to be an unlikely scenario.

Straightening his beret to specs as a good Vatican Knight should, he grabbed his duffel bag and closed the door behind him, wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

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