“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
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.