After placing the video in an envelope, he sealed it using a wet sponge and had Judas drop it off at an affiliate station of CNN shortly after the governor’s discovery.
Once done, Judas made a call to the station and played a taped recording, first in Arabic, then in accented English, advising that the Soldiers of Islam were claiming responsibility for the governor’s death. Further statements demanded that their conditions be met or the pope would soon be lying beside the governor. End of message.
When Judas clicked off the tape, he calmly hung up the receiver and walked away with a ten-million-dollar smile.
“Ms. Cohen?” The tall man emerged seemingly from nowhere. “Shari Cohen?”
Shari looked up into the face of a man who, by her estimate, stood a full foot taller than her, and she was five-six. He was wearing black tactical pants that blossomed at the top of military boots and a cleric’s shirt bearing a starch-white Roman collar. “Yes, Father.”
He offered his hand and gave her a genuine and pleasing smile, which heightened his handsome features. “My name is Kimball Hayden.”
For some reason that name struck a chord with her, but she couldn’t quite match the name with the face. “What can I do for you, Father Hayden?”
“To begin with, ma’am, I’m not a priest. I think it’s important that you know that.”
She looked at the Roman collar.
“It’s part of our uniform,” he answered.
“What exactly do you want, Mr. Hayden?”
“Your help.”
She got the key into the lock and turned it. The door lock popped up. “And what help might that be?”
“I understand you’re the one spearheading the investigation into the kidnapping of Pope Pius the Thirteenth, and that Mr. Paxton is simply following your lead.”
She now felt uneasy and gave a quick glance over to the police presence along the basin.
“Ms. Cohen, please. It’s important you understand that I’m an emissary sent from the Vatican. You can check this out with the archdiocese in Washington. Cardinal Medeiros will verify who I am.”
“How do you know me?”
“I don’t. I just know what your role is.”
“Then how do you know that?”
“Ms. Cohen, the arms of the Vatican are long and wide, even within your own political branches. I’m not going to reveal your secret. I’m simply here to earn your trust so we can work together to achieve our mutual aim — to bring home our pope.”
Shari cocked her head slightly. “Are you a Swiss Guard?”
“No, ma’am. I’m part of a group of operatives known only to the pope and a few others. Our job is to preserve the lives of the innocent. I can’t tell you too much more than that, I’m afraid.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She opened the door to her Lexus. “Good day, Mr. Hayden.”
“Ms. Cohen, please. Call the archdiocese. They’ll confirm who I am and the nature of my visit.” He gave her Cardinal Medeiros’ business card. “Please.”
Shari got into her vehicle, started the engine and cocked her head out the window. “I don’t know who you are, Mr. Hayden, but this is strictly a federal matter. Misguided vigilante groups like yours, well-intentioned as they may be, only make matters worse. So stay away.”
“All I’m asking is for you call the archdiocese and confirm who I am. You’ll be able to contact me through them.”
“I’m a busy person, Mr. Hayden. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
As she drove away, she quickly crumpled the card and tossed it into the recess of the ashtray. Her only thought at the moment was to see Abraham Obadiah.
Kodiak had sent King Snake and Boa to check the perimeter for possible breaches in the system. Lasers had been installed along the first floor of the abandoned building in a series of intertwining networks; a single line broken would automatically trigger a warning to the bank of security monitors situated on the third floor. So far the system did the job; the amber light on the monitor flashed occasionally when a rat crossed the eye of the laser and broke the beam. They had prepared the building well.
After examining the monitors, Kodiak checked on the bishops of the Holy See, who cowered in his presence. Not a single man dared to look him in the eye. At the end of the row lay the empty mattress of the governor. The bishops could guess why the governor had never returned. And soon, they feared, the whole row would be empty.
Walking down the hallway, the cadence of his footfalls casting a hollow, foreboding echo, Kodiak entered the pope’s room, removed his pistol, engaged the laser sight, and placed the red dot in the center of the pope’s forehead. He then bounced the dot from one eye to the other in a malicious game of eenie-meenie-minie-moe. But the pope refused to flinch.
Tiring of the large man’s game, the pope faced him. “Do what you must and be done with it.”
Kodiak stopped the taunting and holstered his weapon. “Just a tune-up before the real thing, Padre.”
Pope Pius XIII leaned forward, his aged face caught half in light and half in shadow. “Will you be the brave soul that kills a defenseless old man chained to a wall?”
The muscles in the back of Kodiak’s jaw tensed. “I’m afraid that privilege is for somebody else.”
“The man who speaks with an accent?”
Kodiak remained silent.
“I see that you have no such accent. In fact, you sound American. Why would that be?”
Kodiak leaned forward as if to step up to a challenge. The size discrepancy between the two made the pope look like a small child within the larger man’s presence. But somehow the smaller man seemed to bear unimaginable strength.
Kodiak knelt until he could clearly see the weathered face of the old man. “You really think this is about meeting certain conditions to gain your release?” He leaned forward and beckoned the pope into closer counsel. “When the bullet finally penetrates your skull,” he whispered as if sharing a secret, “the Arab world will fall in the wake of your death.”
The dark truth dawned on the old man like a sudden epiphany. His jaw dropped and his eyes held sudden recognition.
“That’s right,” said Kodiak, a smile forming on his grotesquely scarred face. “Now you’re getting the whole picture, aren’t you?”
When Kodiak refused to retreat, the pope drew his hands to his face and recalled the cryptic words of the man with the accent: whereas your Christ was the King of Kings who readily embraced the world, Pope Pius XIII shall become the Martyr of Martyrs who will divide it.
The meaning was all too clear.
“That’s right, Padre. You’re the best weapon the twenty-first century has to offer.”
The old man wept.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
While on her way to the Embassy of Israel, Shari received a text message from Chief Advisor Alan Thornton, requesting her immediate presence at the White House Situation Room. There was no further explanation.
Upon her arrival Shari sat with the president, vice president, attorney general, FBI director and key advisors, including Alan Thornton. The discomfort was palpable.
“This morning,” said President Burroughs, “we received word that the Soldiers of Islam had made contact with CNN’s affiliate station, providing them with a tape of the governor’s execution. We immediately issued a warrant to get the tape into our possession, but not before the station had broadcast snippets of the tape on the air. By now it’s probably on every website throughout the world.” He turned to Alan Thornton. “Damage assessment?”