The Goliath Chamber - Vatican Knights 24 (2021), Rick Jones [e ink epub reader .TXT] 📗

Isaiah knew everything about Kimball Hayden. He was never one to run from adversity, but someone who took it on directly with insane courage. And he was not the type who showed any level of cowardice since it had never been a part of his makeup.

“What’s wrong?” Isaiah asked him.

Nehemiah, who stood nearby, also waited for Kimball’s response.

“Believe me,” Kimball answered, “what I have to do I must. Otherwise, I wouldn’t leave your side or the Vatican.”

“I know that,” said Isaiah. “Which is why I’m asking you what’s wrong.”

“I can’t say. All I ask is that you trust me. The Bangladeshi won’t give up. He’ll find a way to get close.”

“Kimball,” Isaiah pressed him, “what’s . . . wrong? We’re brothers.”

Kimball placed a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “I know that. And believe me, Isaiah, my hands are tied on this matter and I’m not willing to risk a terrible outcome. I need you here at the Vatican along with Nehemiah. Keep the borders safe. And make sure that the Bangladeshi doesn’t breach the limits of the city. And please, as my brother . . . ask me no more questions.”

After a pause, Isaiah relented. “Be careful,” he told him evenly.

“I will.”

Without saying anything further, Kimball left the Chamber of the Vatican Knights and the Hall of the Barracks because he had an appointment to keep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Rome, Italy

The Bangladeshi found the officer’s clothing rather baggy with the sleeves and pant legs too short, the fitting poor but useable. On the collar were spots of blood, something the Bangladeshi could not hide. But the cruiser, a police-registered FIAT, was now under his command.

After driving east to stop and strip the officer of his clothing, the Bangladeshi disposed the body and returned westbound through the streets of Rome towards Vatican City. With the flashing and spinning lights within the cruiser’s lightbar, the Bangladeshi was able to pass through the lines after showing his ID card of the man he killed—without anyone actually giving the card a closer look—and was simply waved through as though flashing of the card was routine.

After maneuvering through the streets of Rome, he came upon a Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza team, which was a more militant breed of officer from Rome’s carabinieri. The ID card he carried would be studied, this he knew.

Avoiding the line, he drove the FIAT along the streets that circled Vatican City, which was the smallest country in the world that was landlocked by Rome, and a country that was no bigger than an 18-hole golf course.

First, he drove down Via dei Corridori, and then north along Via di Porta Angelica. Then he circled west onto Viale Vaticano and followed the road to navigate a loop around the entire city. During this recon mission, he discovered that the streets were occupied by a number of patrolling police cars, which allowed him to blend in. Then he drove once more along Via di Porta Angelica until he came to the Piazza del Risorgimento.

The square had been infiltrated by roving bands of pigeons, flocks of them, while a number of police vehicles and a pair of strike vans belonging to the Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza parked together to set up a central command post.

The Bangladeshi, who in global circles had become known as a chameleon who could walk amongst his enemies, parked his vehicle approximately one hundred meters away from the central command, then exited his vehicle. Standing next to the car with the hems of his pant legs well above his ankles, and with the sleeves of his shirt obviously too short with the cuffs resting a few inches above his wrists, he focused on Vatican City, which was a few hundred meters west of his position.

Though his blending was not perfect due to the ill fit of the uniform, it was enough to cast aside any suspicion or investigative looks. Grabbing his laptop, the Bangladeshi went to the trunk of the vehicle and opened it. Inside lay the False Prophet. The emblazoned red image of an angel with demonic wings and a halo stared back at him. After spying the area once more to discover a potential threat and seeing none, he set the laptop inside the trunk and undid the clasps to the suitcase. Opening the lid, the Bangladeshi grazed the keypad with the tips of his fingers, and then he typed in a code by striking the keys with a pianist’s skill, fast and precise. After hitting the hashtag sign and then the ‘ENTER’ tab, a digital timer popped up with a series of LED zeros splashed across its face.

The Bangladeshi stood idle as he deciphered the time needed to create enough space from the blast site. He’d be on foot for the most part and moving east, at least until he found the means to drive north into Switzerland, and then into Germany, France or Austria, depending on the situation of the aftermath.

With the same dexterity, the Bangladeshi typed in 02:00:00. Then he hit the “ENTER’ tab for a second time. After the unit whirred as though it was powering on, the numbers started to wind down.

. . . 02:00:00 . . .

. . . 01:59:59 . . .

. . . 01:59:58 . . .

Closing and then locking the lid, the Bangladeshi had given himself time to draw distance.

. . . 01:59:57 . . .

. . . 01:59:56 . . .

. . . 01:59:55 . . .

Leaving his laptop behind, the Bangladeshi began to move towards the center of Rome at a brisk pace.

In less than two hours, Vatican City, which was the throne and hub of Catholic religion, was about to become a wasteland.

CHAPTER

FORTY

Monte Soratte Bunker

30 Miles North of Rome

The Monte Soratte is a mountain ridge in the Metropolitan City of Rome that is an isolated limestone ridge with sawback features that contained six peaks. Located thirty miles north of Rome, it