If it had remained, anyone would have seen the red circle surrounding the face of the last man in the photo.
Time can be measured in milliseconds and perhaps even quicker — and sometimes much too fast for the human mind to react, even in self-preservation.
As Kimball stood in the doorway mulling over Jeff’s parting comment, he observed the former assassin pick something up inside the vehicle’s cab — a piece of paper by the looks of it — and examined it. Suddenly he galvanized himself by moving with a sudden quickness, his hands searching for the release of the belt, then pounding the assemblage — once, twice, three times.
And then he stopped.
He turned to Kimball, his face and eyes bearing the telltale signs of what Kimball thought he would never see on the face of a Hardwick brother. It was the look of a man realizing that his life was about to end and there was nothing in his power to grant him a reprieve. All that was left was undeniable fear.
Their eyes met briefly.
And then the cacophony of the white-hot explosion immediately followed by force of the concussion. The energy had driven Kimball off his feet and projected him through the air until he collided with the wall, the impact of the collision leaving an indented impression of his backside in the drywall. Getting to his feet, and with the wind knocked out of him and his world a blur of double vision, Kimball looked as if he had risen from ashes that were the color of moon dust as he stood there not truly cognizant of where he was or what just happened. As his surroundings became a little more balanced, with the taste of blood and copper in his mouth, Kimball made his way to the door the same way a man fights his way through a desert sandstorm — with his hands before him while marching laboriously forward against buffeting winds.
He then grabbed the edges of the doorway and used them as a crutch, the sensation of incredible heat suddenly striking him and forcing him to retreat. From his point he could hear the loud crackle of flames as the truck burned. Behind the wheel sat the blackened remains of Jeffrey Hardwick, his skin consumed to the point where the formation of bones was already beginning to appear.
Kimball stumbled deeper into the store, his stomach now rolling into a slick fist as nausea from the trauma of striking the wall with such force overtook him. Taking deep breaths with his hand held over his abdomen, the feeling subsided.
Removing his cell phone from his cargo pants, he dialed a quick-dial number and waited until he received an answer.
It was Cardinal Vessucci.
“They’re all gone,” said Kimball.
To the cardinal, even over a long distance, could tell that Kimball appeared out of breath. “Are you all right?”
“They’re all gone,” he repeated. “He got them all, Bonasero. I’m the last one. I’m all that’s left.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine… Just a little winded, that’s all.”
Outside, the flames continued to crackle loudly.
“What’s that?”
“Just a little bonfire, which Jeffrey Hardwick happens to be a participant of.”
“Oh, no.”
“He’s still out there, Bonasero. He’s still coming.”
“Then come home, Kimball.”
“If I do that, then I won’t be coming back alone. He’ll follow me and we’ll bring this war to the Vatican, which I’m not willing to do.”
“We found Job. He’s here. Joshua and Ezekiel will be back shortly from sabbatical. By the time you get here you’ll have their backing. One assassin against four Vatican Knights favors you greatly.”
“I don’t want anyone else hurt,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like this guy. He’s as lethal as anyone I have ever seen.”
“Kimball… Come home.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that.”
In the distance was the sound of sirens, the authorities getting closer. Kimball, phone still to his ear, forced his way past the heat and onto the street.
“Kimball, come home. Although Amerigo won’t admit it, he’s getting worse by the day. You need to see him.”
“How long does he have?”
“The doctor said months — three, maybe four at the most. But who knows. At this rate…”
“Even with chemo and radiation?”
“He’s rejecting all forms of treatment. He simply wants to expire as God intended him to.”
Kimball sounded agitated. “Did it ever occur to him that maybe doctors were placed here by God to help him live longer?”
“I know you’re angry, Kimball. But what kind of a life would he lead only to suffer the last few moments of his life bedridden and sedated to the point that he was no longer aware of his surroundings?”
When the sirens and lights from police and ambulatory vehicles rounded the bend, Kimball fell back into the shadows until the vehicles passed him by.
And then: “He wants to go to his Heavenly Father on His terms, not his own.”
Kimball had to forcibly choke back the sting of tears. Besides Cardinal Vessucci and a few others, Pope Pius XIII had become his most unfaltering supporter believing that the Light was well within Kimball’s reach, should he decide to follow its path. He had forgiven Kimball for his indiscretions and loved him like a son. And Kimball had loved him deeply like a father. Having one of the most significant men in the world believe in you when you did not believe in yourself spoke volumes. And Kimball was crushed.
“I didn’t mean to snap,” he finally said.
“It’s understandable. We all love him and he will be missed.”
Kimball stood looking at the glow rising from behind the building like a halo. “I’m coming home,” he said distantly.
“He’ll be happy to see you.”
And that was the breaking point for Kimball as he could no longer hold back the tears. And for a second time within days tears began to flow, although they did so without him breaking into racking sobs.
“Kimball?”
He closed his eyes in an effort to blink back the rest of the tears. “I’m here,” he said, his voice managing to stay even. “But I’m most likely bringing the war back with me.”
“Then we’ll be waiting.”
After the explosion set the vehicle in flight in spectacular motion, he lowered the aerial and let the plastic cap fall over the button. From his perch he watched the fires burn, thinking there was something quite hypnotic about them, a certain graceful quality about the way the flames danced with a life of their own. Nevertheless, he reveled in the fact that he formerly introduced Jeffrey Hardwick to a short dose of what was waiting for him in Hell.
This he was sure of.
When the sirens began to sound off in the background, just as he was about to take flight, he saw Kimball Hayden exit the building and take flight on his own. The man looked disheveled and completely disoriented, his gait more like a man in a drunken stupor. Within a few moments, however, he seemed to have gathered himself and appeared unharmed, the large man rushing for the shadows.
That’s good, thought the assassin. Kimball Hayden survived the blast after all. Now with Kimball as the last man standing, and after watching those around him fall, which no doubt cast an air of his own infallibility, the assassin wondered if he was breaking him down mentally, as well. Killing Kimball Hayden had now become optimum.
Taking in a deep breath, with the smell of fire and ash heavy in the air, the assassin watched Kimball as he disappeared in the shadows. No matter what, he told himself, I will follow you to the very stretches of your run and finalize my crusade by driving a knife across your throat. And when I stand over you and watch you bleed out, then, and only then, will I smile the moment the spark of your life finally fades away.