Now, several years later and seeking the salvation he’s been so desperately searching for, Kimball Hayden had found only a medial calm within himself.
He still had long way to go.
Dressing in the room of his suite, his clothes neatly pressed and laying on the edge of the bed, Kimball always took care and pride of his vestments. Although a soldier of the Vatican, he wore the assigned clothing of a cleric with the crisp black shirt and Roman collar. On the shirt pocket was the emblem of the Vatican Knights, a coat of arms that set him and his team apart from the rest of the clergy. Centered within the coat of arms was a Silver Cross Pattée, which was set against a blue background. The colors were significant for the fact that silver represented peace and sincerity, and blue the traits of truth and loyalty. Positioned alongside the design were two heraldic lions standing on their hind legs with their forepaws holding the edges of the shield, stabilizing it. The implication of the lions was a symbolic representation of bravery, strength, ferocity and valor. His black pants, however, were more martial in appearance with his pant legs deliberately blossoming at the top of military boots that were polished to a spit-shine finish. This was the uniform of the Vatican Knights.
Making sure he was properly dressed to specs, his creases sharp, his Roman collar centered and pristine white, Kimball Hayden marginally resembled a priest rather than the killer he once was.
Taking one last careful note of his appearance in the mirror, Kimball realized he would soon have to pass the mantle of leadership to someone younger and aptly capable to lead his team into covert situations sanctioned by the Church. In the meantime, he hoped to find that elusive salvation he sought, that alleged ‘Light of Loving Spirits’ that would absolve him from all the horrible wrongs he committed as an assassin for the United States government.
In the meantime, as Pope Pius XIII spent his final day in the United States dealing with the local bishops of the Holy See in social communion, Kimball Hayden went off to find his own ‘spirits’ in a bottle of drink.
President Jim Burroughs, thus far, was able to keep the news about the portable nuclear device out of the media’s grasp. But for how long, he didn’t know. Certainly it would only be a matter of time before the information started to pour through the gaping wounds of broken containment, once the first few drops of info escaped the dam. But for now, the president did what he could to make sure that anyone leaking information would be dealt with at the highest level, barring a direct threat of handing out corporeal punishment.
The administration had been meeting all day in the Oval Office trying to come up with the best possible approach to determine the whereabouts of other weapons, if any, and their locations. And to do that they had to start at the first stepping stone, which was to find out who proffered the weapons to begin with. And to do that you had to start with the usual suspects and follow the money trail.
CIA Director Doug Craner stood on the Presidential Seal before the president’s desk leafing through sheets of paper, confirming that the constant rush of data brought to him by the intelligence networks were indisputable before enlightening the top principals of Burroughs’ staff.
“Yorgi Perchenko,” he began, “is definitely in the black market servicing clients who have enough money to purchase plutonium for the construction of dirty bombs and Dante Packages for the right price. Last year his known bank accounts in twenty-seven nations have registered deposits totaling one hundred thirty-seven million dollars. Not bad for a retired assistant director for the Directorate S. But everything we discovered from intel confirms that Perchenko is definitely packaging portable nuclear weapons, which gives me reason to believe he’s the only runner in the campaign providing weapons of mass destruction.”
“And this is clear and precise?”
“Yes, sir. By intercepting Russian communication we were able to ascertain the fact that six months ago the amount of three million dollars was traced from a dummy corporation in Minsk, which was owned by Perchenko, and wired to accounts in the Cayman Islands, Russia and the United States where it was discovered by our sources that an additional twenty-seven million was wired to those accounts from the Central Bank of Iran the day before. After that the entire amount was wired to multiple accounts across the world until the trail became so diluted it was hard to follow.”
“So Perchenko took the earnest deposit of three million, regardless if the Central Bank of Iran faltered?”
“Exactly,” said Craner. “Black marketers are usually paid ten percent of the gross total as a commission, whether or not the deal is consummated due to the risk involved. In this case the deal went through and the money dispensed until it eventually disappeared. At the very least, Mr. President, Yorgi Perchenko is following the protocol of every black marketer. And with such a large sum of money coming from a known terrorist front as Iran, I’d say Perchenko continues to top the list.”
Chief Advisor Alan Thornton agreed, since the jihad crusaders were Arabs in possession of Russian-made goods. But the scenario fit too well and appeared too simplistic, whereas Thornton cautioned the president that this could be a red herring to throw the administration off and into a different direction.
“But it’s the only direction we have at the moment,” the president commented. And then he mused for a brief moment before coming up with directions of his own. “By tracking the Russian communiqué, were you able to pinpoint Perchenko’s location?”
“Not exactly, but sources believe him to be in Minsk. In fact, there’s a variety of clubs and bars he likes to frequent there.”
“Then you know what I want,” he said. “I want that man found and I want your resources to do whatever it takes to make that man talk. I want to know how many weapons are out there.”
“It might be hard since this guy is old school and knows elusive techniques.”
“Look, Doug, I’m not asking you — I’m telling you. Make sure you find this guy and get the right answers. I want to know how many units this guy sold to the Arabs before the Russians get to him.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“And I mean immediately, Doug. Who knows how much longer we have before they try to detonate a portable, if another exists.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president eased back into his chair. “Now the question is this: What are the potential target sites? Obviously Washington D.C. and New York City. Give me something more.”
“It could be anywhere, Mr. President,” said Thornton. “Nuclear reactors, populated cities, the Pentagon — the list is endless.”
The president bit hard, the muscles in his jaw working. “Then get with the international agencies and mine them for as much information as possible. Especially Mossad. See if they can give us whatever data they have regarding the Arabs killed at the infiltration site. Find out what cell they’re from, their associates, anything that will give us a possible line to follow.”
“Yes, sir. But if I may?”
“Go ahead, Al.”
“Since we don’t know the target sites, I would suggest that we get you to a safe location immediately.”