The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020), Rick Jones [free ebooks for android txt] 📗

his final point. “The rest of your life better have meaning, Cardinal. One life for another.”

One life for another, four words that cut deep to the cardinal’s core as Kimball’s message became clear: a good life was gone; therefore, another good life shall take its place to carry on.

The cardinal cast his eyes downward, the man entirely ashamed of himself for the way he acted for casting doubts regarding God. Then: “I understand.”

Without saying anything further, Kimball rose from the seat and joined his team in the rear of the jet, leaving the cardinal to reassess his future.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

The Apostolic Palace. The Vatican.

Vatican City.

As soon as the chartered jet landed at Fiumicino Airport in Rome, a transport vehicle for the cardinal and the team of Vatican Knights was waiting. The return drive to the Vatican was pin-drop quiet. After the SUV stopped at the cardinal’s quarters in Rome, the cardinal and Kimball locked eyes. The message between them was silently adamant: keep to your vows and promote the tenets of good men and even better principles. Remember, you have been granted a second chance. A good life was taken; therefore, another good life will take its place to carry on.

In that umbilical moment between them, the cardinal was humbled. And then he nodded to Kimball, the message received and understood, even when a single syllable did not pass their lips.

After the driver, a bishop of the Holy See, escorted the cardinal to his apartment, Kimball looked at the dressed wound of Isaiah’s arm, and at the stark white wrapping of gauze. In time, since Kimball could attest to this, it would turn into a scar and perhaps one of many that would be accrued over a lifetime. That was when Kimball removed his glove to look at his hand. The flesh had been burned and discolored, the skin having melted and cooled. But there were other damages as well, such as the remembrances of dimpled flesh to mark bullet wounds, the diagonal scores which had bound themselves into lateral scars, and flesh that had burned like the tallow of wax. When the driver returned, Kimball immediately placed the glove back on to hide the wounds of his past.

As soon as the driver made it to the Vatican and the Vatican Knights exited the vehicle, the bishop, who was a slight and spectacled man with a nice smile, turned to Kimball. “The pope wishes to hold a personal meeting with you,” he told him, “as soon as we arrive.”

“I don’t even get to shower?”

“I’m only passing on the pontiff’s instructions.”

Kimball, with tongue in cheek, knew what the topic was going to be: The Spear of Destiny.

After given passage by the Swiss Guards who guarded the gates of the Apostolic Palace, Kimball was escorted into the pontiff’s chambers. Once the door closed softly behind him, he found himself alone with the pontiff, who sat behind the desk displaying a skinny range of emotion. The man did not appear happy or saddened by Kimball’s presence. All he did was arch an eyebrow, which Kimball considered to be a condemnation of his dirty uniform.

“You asked to see me, Your Holiness?”

The pope nodded, then stood. “The Spear of Destiny?”

“Are you not concerned over the welfare of the cardinal?”

“The Spear of Destiny, did you bring it back or not?”

After a paused moment, Kimball said, “Not.”

The pope’s chin dropped, and his eyes started. “You were specifically told to bring back the relic. That was a priority.”

“Pardon me if I had to juggle a number of things at the same time, like trying to save the lives of nearly fifty people.”

The pontiff clenched his teeth, which caused the muscles in the back of his jaw to work. And from eyes that were as black as obsidian glass, they pinned Kimball with anger. “You were to bring back the relic.”

Kimball stood rooted several feet before the pontiff’s desk, with the Vatican Knight refusing to divulge any narration of the Holy Lance, even when he had it in his possession.

The pontiff sighed with his chest deflating in defeat. Then he cast his weary hand in dismissal of the Vatican Knight. “Leave,” he told him. “Leave my chamber.” In dismay, the pope buckled into his seat and turned away from Kimball.

“By the way, the cardinal’s just fine,” Kimball told him.

As Kimball waited for a sharp response, the pope remained silent as though wallowing in self-pity. And Kimball could only shake his head disappointedly. Pope Clement XV never cared about the welfare of Cardinal Favino. He was just an excuse, a tool, a reason for the Vatican Knights to get within arm’s length of the relic. And it was at this moment that Kimball looked upon the pontiff as a man of a truly weak constitution and thin moral fiber.

After Kimball wordlessly left the pontiff’s chamber, he headed for the quarters of the Vatican Knights. But he was intercepted by a bishop outside the Apostolic Palace who communicated the fact that he was wanted by Father Auciello, who was one of the co-directors of Vatican Intelligence. Furthermore, Kimball was told to prepare himself because the news was not good.

The news was never good, he considered, when it came to Vatican Intelligence. All they did was monitor hotspots across the globe, such as the killing fields in the Middle East and Africa, places where the Vatican Knights needed to be dispatched.

Wanting so badly to take a hot shower and to get some much-needed sleep, Kimball Hayden made his way to the nerve center of Vatican Intelligence beneath the Basilica.

Once there and passing through all the required security stations, Father Auciello appeared shocked to see the Vatican Knight. Kimball didn’t know if it was because he arrived so quickly, or perhaps the soiled nature of his dress. Maybe both.

“Father,” Kimball greeted.

Father Auciello was a tall and slender man who was educated at Oxford. His hair was the color of pewter and his complexion olive. But his features, normally