As soon as I passed into the body of the aircraft, the ramp began closing behind me. In a last second cry for hope, I turned to look out over the runway, but again found nothing to greet me except the darkness. As the ramp continued to retract, genuine sadness crept over me, but the loud metal on metal grinding sound of the ramp completing its retraction quickly snapped me out of it.
With the rear of the ship cutting me off from my past, my head dropped just slightly before I turned and walked into the belly of the beast. With a final sigh, I secured my gear beneath my bench in preparation for the flight, leaned my head back, and closed my eyes.
***
As the elevator doors opened, I noticed it was connected to the Vatican’s normal elevator system, accessible to the general public. I assumed that only someone with their thumbprint or other security measure cleared by the Vatican could reach the level we had just left. Father Vincent and I emerged on the first floor near St. Peter’s Basilica, exiting quickly before a swarm of eager tourists entered the cab. I had to jump to the side when a young child rushed passed me, dragging his young mother behind him as he feverishly sought out the random object of interest that must have caught his eye. She gave me an apologetic smile, but quickly moved on, trying to keep up with her son.
“That was odd,” I commented, smiling in their direction.
Father Vincent smirked. “To this day, I still find it strange to emerge into the public after having just returned from a secret rendezvous through an elevator that doesn’t exist.”
I looked at him, recollecting my earlier thoughts of secrets within secrets. “I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve escorted someone in this manner?”
“Of course not. You are not the first to come to us. In fact, with your arrival, we have completed recruitment for the time being.”
“And I suppose more information on that will have to wait?”
“You assume correctly. Do not worry. We are almost there.”
***
A brisk walk later, we arrived at a large doorway ornately decorated with religious motifs. The doors had to have been centuries old, but I was hardly an expert in such matters. Before I could think much more on the subject, Father Vincent knocked gently, sparing a single glance in my direction to offer me a curt nod.
I understood.
This was it, time to meet the new boss, and I couldn’t be more nervous. A quiet “enter” came from inside and Father Vincent opened the doors leading the way in. I spotted two individuals inside. The first man was in his golden years, although aging quite gracefully. He wore white robes and skull cap, and had a rosary festooned around his neck.
The second individual was standing rigidly straight behind the first man’s chair and had the look of a career military man. His dark brown hair was cut short and he sported a thick mustache, which along with his slightly graying temples, prominent jaw line and nose, and hawkish blue eyes, gave him the look of a dignified statesman. The man wore olive drab Battle Dress Uniform cargo pants, and an olive drab Woolly Pully combat sweater. If had to guess, I’d peg him as a member of Britain’s SAS. It was the Special Air Service who developed the Wooly Pully after all. I’d worked with members of that illustrious group before, and had nothing but positive memories of how they operated.
I looked at the perfectly groomed and dressed man, and immediately felt horribly underdressed. His BDU pants and Woolly Pully were formal enough ware, but were also combat ready in a time of need. I, on the other hand, wore tan boots of a civilian brand, military style khaki cargo pants, and a Hawaiian t-shirt, obnoxiously colored in bright yellow and blue. To complete the ensemble, I even left my shirt open, revealing the sleeveless undershirt I wore beneath.
Part of my orders had been to appear at the Vatican in civilian dress, and since I lived in Hawaii for the past few years, I had little else in my closet but Hawaiian shirts. It wasn’t until I emerged from the elevator, into the swarm of tourists a few minutes ago, that I realized why.
I came to a halt a few paces away from a desk, situated in the center of a richly decorated room, with religious paintings scattered throughout, and snapped a salute, feeling ridiculous doing so in the horribly patterned shirt.
“Lieutenant Commander Jacob Hunter reporting as ordered, sir.”
The old man sitting behind the desk smiled and kept me holding the salute for a few second before waving me off.
“I can understand your instinct to salute, my son,” the man said in clear but accented English, “but I am not your commander. At ease, or whatever it is you military types say.”
I lowered my arm slowly, easing myself into a more comfortable standing position, but remained razor straight.
“Thank you, sir. I wasn’t sure whether to salute, or kneel, or what. I’m a little out of my element here.”
The man continued to smile at me as he stood up and rounded the desk to stand at arm’s reach. As he came to a stop, he held out his right hand, which held a rather large ring. I understood, and knelt before him, kissing the ring, before rising again to my feet. Straightening, I was surprised to see the man’s smile was larger than before, as he seemed to settle into a completely relaxed and informal manner.
“Sit, sit,” he said. “We have little to discuss, and it is important that we have you continue your journey as quickly as possible.”
I took my seat, noticing that Father Vincent had vanished.
Sneaky.
The old man sat down carefully, faintly showing his age. Folding his hands on the desk in front of him, he stared directly into my eyes. He wasn’t so intimidating that he made me feel uncomfortable, but his look was enough to ensure that I knew who was in charge.
“So,” he began, opening his hands. “It is my understanding that you have been left completely in the dark concerning why you are here. You know that we are in the middle of not only a crusade, but World War III, that my life has been directly threatened, and that terrorists were very nearly successful at taking it. Finally, you know that I have created an off shoot of my Swiss Guard, for which I have recruited from the best of all Christendom to provide additional aid and protection to my person. Have I left anything out?”
“No, sir. That just about covers it.” I kept my responses short. We were both busy men. No reason to delay our meeting with frivolous pleasantries or endearing platitudes.
Perhaps sensing my directness, he smiled again, and quickly shifted topics. “We know all about your upbringing and have been watching you for quite some time. Do not be alarmed. We just wanted to make sure we knew everything we needed to in our potential candidates. But, as you are finally here, it is time to send you on your way.”
I leaned forward, in order to hear as clearly as I could.
“You are here to join an elite group of soldiers whose sole purpose is to seek out and eliminate any potential threat to the wellbeing of myself or the ground on which you stand. My Swiss Guard is fully capable of defending this establishment from many threats, including an all-out siege, but it is the small, indirect kinds of warfare that the mere guard cannot defend against. Nuclear and biological attacks must be stopped at the source, and that is where your team comes in.”
I nodded, suspecting as much. I’d guessed I was here to participate in some form of anti-terrorism outfit. That suited me just fine.
“Thank you. You have answered many of my questions, except for one. Who are we?”
The man smiled once again. “You have no official unit designation, but to me, you are known as Praetorians. Do you know who they were?”
“They were once the elite bodyguard of the Roman Caesars during the days of the Roman Empire.”
“I thought you would know. You have inquisitive eyes, always open to learning new things. You are correct. You are Praetorians, a tribute to the men of antiquity who once protected the leaders of this great city. Now, since you have no further questions, allow me to introduce you to Major Dillon McDougal, formally of His Majesty’s SAS. He will be your commanding officer. King William was kind enough to lend him to our efforts.”