After scanning his eyes, a massive bolt from the door automatically pulled back and the door swung open with mechanical slowness.
The store was dark, no windows, old uniforms and military helmets lined shelves that were heavy and laden with dust. Shadows remained unmoving with some shadows and shapes darker than others. And when he turned on the lights everything seemed bleak and gray and still, a coating of dust usurping everything.
After all, everything on this level was a prop and nothing ever moved. Everything of value was down below.
Tossing the keys on a glass countertop that was so dusty the items within the casing could hardly be discernable, Jeff Hardwick checked his answering machine by dialing in another code for retrieval.
Nothing.
Jeff, nor his brother Stan, had heard from Grenier or Arruti in over a week, which was cause for concern knowing they had something going on in the Philippines with a high-priority need for goods and wares.
Hanging up the phone that was specially built to encrypt all incoming calls and deflect all others not recognized by the computer, Jeff pulled out his cell phone and called his brother.
When Stan answered, he said one thing: “The vendor inquiring about the uniforms never called back.”
And it was cryptically understood: The firm of Grenier and Arruti, for whatever reason, had put current purchases on hold.
Something’s wasn’t right.
“I see,” he returned evenly. And without adding anything further, he hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There is a chamber beneath the Basilica that is the nerve center of the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano, the SIV. It is encased behind walls of bomb-resistant glass, the room itself a marvel of engineering with the entire wall a massive screen TV that can be enabled to be a singular screen, or divided up into multiple screens for multiple purposes. Computer consoles lined multi-tiered levels like a motion picture theater, the rear levels slightly elevated so that the patrons sitting in front can view the mega-screen without obstructing those behind them. The staff manning the consoles or pouring over data were uniformly dressed in black dress pants and tie, a white shirt, and a scarlet dress jacket bearing the emblem of the Vatican on the pocket; the crossed keys of Simon Peter — one silver, one gold — situated beneath the papal crown.
With diplomatic ties to more than ninety percent of the nations worldwide, the Vatican had a ringside seat.
As Cardinal Vessucci made his way down the winding stone staircase, hiking up the hem of his cassock while descending, his mind was stewing with many thoughts. He was about to lose his friend to cancer, leaving a vacancy upon the papal throne for which he, and two others, were considered the forerunners in a brewing campaign between conservative parties. Pius had already voiced his desire as to his successor. But the cardinal knew that every election was motivated by political machinations rather than the wishes of the incumbent.
When he reached the bottom stair he could see the glass partition of the SIV Center. The video wall opposite the computer consoles gave view to a collage of moving images, mostly of the Middle East, others in the hotspots of the Philippines and Brazil.
As he walked the length of the corridor he came to a thick glass door, the framework of the glass panel bordered by titanium edging. After giving a perceptible wave of his hand to the SIV agent on the other side, the man waved back in acknowledgement and began to type a series of numbers on a keypad. When the sequence was completed, the door opened and a rush of cool air escaped the chamber. The moment he stepped inside, the glass door closed behind him with a whoosh that sounded like escaping steam. It was the sound of the chamber being sealed.
His other moving concern beside the impending death of his long-time friend was the welfare of his long-time brother in spirit, Kimball Hayden. After learning that the assassin could have killed Kimball, he was greatly disturbed.
He had never questioned the particular set of skills Kimball possessed. But now he had to wonder if the game had finally passed him by. Was Kimball out of his league?
This time — maybe.
Usually the pressures of corporeal life were handled with the power of prayer and faith— the combination putting him at ease in the same manner of self-meditating. But his apprehension could not be mollified to any degree. And he knew it never would be until an assembled team of Knights could be sent to support him. Especially since Kimball’s old team of highly skilled warriors were dropping in the clichéd term of proverbial flies.
Would the Vatican Knights fare any better?
The cardinal wasn’t entirely confident, since this assassin was unlike any other.
All he could do was pray and hope.
As the cardinal stood gazing up at the myriad pictures on the big-screen monitor, the assistant director of the SIV approached him.
“Afternoon, Cardinal Vessucci.” The man was small and wispy looking, the collar of his jacket too wide for such a pencil-thin neck. And his face was as slender as the blade of a hatchet. But when he spoke his voice sounded as smooth as flowing honey. It was the voice of someone who could soothe the masses in the face of tragedy.
“My friend Carmello, how are you today?”
The assistant director looked at the video monitor and gestured with a sweep of his bony-thin hand towards the screen. “Busy,” he said. “The world never sleeps.”
“I see that.”
“But as big as this planet is, nothing is impossible to find with today’s technology.”
“You found the Knights on sabbatical?” he stated this with a tone full of hope.
“Not all,” said the assistant director. “But we did find Job.”
“Where?”
The assistant director went to the nearest console with Vessucci at his heels. After typing in a set code, a portion of the screen in the northeast corner of the giant monitor began to take on the landscape images of a satellite feed. Mountains, valleys and snow-capped peaks; rivers, lakes and pools of blue water everywhere — the pristine image of Lake Lucerne, Switzerland.
“We were able to center in on the GPS coordinates of his cell phone, after you provided us with his number. A very simple tool, actually. Based on the number we were able to zero in almost immediately to his point.”
“Have you found Joshua or Ezekiel?”
The assistant director shook his head. “We’re still working on it,” he said. “Neither seems to have a cell phone, laptop, or anything electronic that we could singularly set our sights on. It could be that they have yet to engage their devices.”
“Or that they didn’t bring any along. They are, after all, on sabbatical. Getting away from the real world is what sabbatical is all about — for prayer and meditation.”
“We won’t give up,” he added. “If we found Job, then we can find the others. All it takes is determination and perseverance.”
Vessucci smiled and clapped a hand on the diminutive man’s shoulder. “That’s true, my friend. But I need you to find them as quickly as you can. The situation is quite dire.”
The cardinal looked back at the screen. It was uncanny, he thought, to look upon the earth with an almost omniscient point of view. And then: “Have you contacted Job yet?”
“Not yet. But we have agents on the way to inform him of his need here at the Vatican.”
“Do you know where he is exactly?”