Knees slightly bent and body bowed forward, Isaiah moved along the corridor viewing the scene through the crosshairs of his weapon.
Micah found a passage through a hole in the roof barely big enough to pass through. After gaining a handhold on a rotting joist beam, he carefully took position within a tangle of rotted wood where he watched the Force Elite take position on top of the stairwell and fire off several rounds to deter any hostile advancement.
Micah noted Isaiah was nowhere in sight. And with no one to cover him he felt highly vulnerable.
Further down the hall, crouched and shackled against the wall, were four members of the Holy See.
The pope was nowhere in sight.
Snaking into position between rotted beams, Micah clicked on the laser sighting and focused the dot onto one of the commando’s holding position at the stairwell. He could easily clear the area with three quick shots.
Taking careful aim, the red dot landing squarely on the back of Boa’s head, Micah began to squeeze the trigger.
Leviticus moved in with Shari in tow and scouted the entry area. Once he established that the area was secure, Shari instinctively swiped at the swirling dust as if to drive the cloud away. She had no success.
Gunfire continued to erupt from the north end of the stairwell, the ammo taking pieces of concrete from the walls and stairs — a strong message to the advancement team that the stairwell was not a consideration for encroachment.
Kimball brought his hand to his lip mike and drew it closer to his lips. “Isaiah?”
So far the corridor’s clear, he returned. I haven’t been able to pinpoint the packages. My guess is that they’re probably at Micah’s end.
“Copy that… Micah?”
There was no reply. Micah was either occupied or dispatched.
“Isaiah, Micah’s right on top of them!”
I’m moving, Isaiah said.
“Be careful!”
It wouldn’t be long before Isaiah and Micah were in position to draw the attention of the Force Elite, considered Kimball.
The red dot wavered ever so slightly on the back of Boa’s head, a zone that promised a quick kill. Slowly, Micah pulled back on the trigger, the tension set lighter than most assault weapons, and slowed his breathing to steady his aim. After killing the first one, he would kill the other two while they were caught in the grip of their own surprise. The trigger slid farther back, the mechanism about to engage, the red dot as steady as a tattoo.
And then the kill shot.
Micah’s face shield exploded into spider’s web cracks as a single bullet penetrated the plastic guard, a single hole placed dead center. Micah’s head reared back as if trying to understand the moment of his sudden death, and then he fell from the beam and landed on top of another joist. His midsection was draped in such a way that it looked as if he was momentarily suspended in midair trying to touch his toes, before sliding noiselessly from the girder and to the floor.
From a distance Team Leader had seen the red laser dot from Micah’s weapon, a microdot floating in space, and then he took careful aim and fired his Glock. As he closed in, a ribbon of smoke was rising from the tip of his pistol, the weapon directed right at Micah as he lay there. After he examined the body to confirm the man’s death, he noticed the silver Pattée within the shield and the flanking heraldic lions that supported the crest on his body armor. No doubt the squad emblem, he thought.
Looking ceiling-ward he noted the poorly constructed roof. He had always known of its porous quality, having absorbed the rains for several years and gone unkempt. It was obviously the opportunity the combatants had found in order to breach the building silently. The first-floor entry was simply a diversion tactic that nearly worked, his team maintaining their concentration on what they thought was the only point of advancement while others entered unseen from above.
Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Team Leader realized that his aspirations of dividing the world into warring factions were now idealistic rather than a reality. If he was to kill the pope now, and the truth be known to the world community that it was a top Israeli commando who actually pulled the trigger, then that would only isolate his beloved Israel rather than propel it to the fore.
His dream was dead and he knew it.
Team Leader quickly made his way down the corridor. Without a doubt the building would soon be overwhelmed, since the operative he killed was sent to pinpoint their exact location. Whether or not the man succeeded in his mission he didn’t know. But one thing was for sure — it was time to jump ship.
The pope clung to Bishop Angelo’s hand, Angelo’s digits having locked into place, unable to bend to embrace the hand of the man whom he had come to love as a father. Nevertheless, the pope cupped his hands over the bishop’s and held on as if he’d never let go.
In the background was gunfire, a lot of it. And in the back of Pope Pius’s mind he truly believed his time on earth was coming to an end.
So he prayed.
He prayed for the forgiveness of those who would take his life, and for those who would take the lives of those surrounding him. He prayed for his own salvation, ashamed for hating the man who forced him to witness Man’s darkest side. He had come to realize that the Light of his world was imbibing the Darkness of someone else’s.
From the corner of his eye, as he held Bishop Angelo’s hand, and the gunfire never lessening, Pope Pius spotted the Dark Man of his hatred standing silhouetted in the doorway against the ongoing muzzle flashes in the background. With his weapon drawn the man entered the room. And in a look of defiance, Pius courageously raised his head.
For a moment they stared at each other, the firefight in the background becoming a drone as they appraised one another. Each man had learned some insights of the other, perhaps the Light imbibing as much of the Darkness as the Darkness imbibed the Light, making each man equal since they now shared qualities of both. How they exercised those qualities would still come from each man’s independent will. It was all about making the choices that suited them most — good, bad or indifferent.
Team Leader looked him in the eyes and was pleased with what he saw. Here sat a man who was not afraid to die, a man whose conviction of faith was strong enough to break the chains that bind him, if only he had the physical strength to do so. And then Team Leader did something uncharacteristic; he bowed to the pope in what Pius took to be a measure of respect. “For centuries my people have been persecuted,” he said. “But no matter what, we’ll eventually persevere. You’re a good man, Your Holiness, but until all become like you, only then will this end. I could only dream of such a day.”
Raising his weapon, the laser finding its mark, Team Leader pulled the trigger.
“Isaiah.” Kimball’s voice was loud, as if to cry out over the noise. “Have you detected the packages?”
That’s negative. I’m coming to a doorway leading to the north corridor. So far the south side is clear. It seems that Micah might have come straight down into their laps since the point of defense seems to be at his entry.
“Copy that.” And then, “Micah?” There was no answer, which concerned Kimball. And then again, but this time louder, “Micah?”
When he didn’t answer, Kimball turned to Shari, the Incident Command Deputy, and gave her a gesture of circling his hand in the air as if twirling a lasso. “To the south sector maneuvering to the north!” he hollered to her.