Pandora's Ark (25 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Vatican
City

When
the plane finally landed in Rome, Kimball felt something he hadn’t felt in a very
long time: elation, purpose and true belonging.

When he arrived at the Vatican he was shelled with old memories.
The wonderful imagery when he was a Vatican Knight when things were at their
worst but he was at his best, making a difference in the lives of others rather
than taking them away.

He had finally come home.

When he entered the dormitory housing of the Vatican Knights he felt a very real belonging, an indescribable gravitation. Above the door
to his quarters was the acid-etched stencil of the Knights’ coat of arms, the
symbol
of faith, loyalty, honor, courage and strength. Reaching up, he brushed his
fingers over the engraving.

Opening the door
he found the room the way he left it six months before. To the left was his bed
and nightstand. To the right the small votive rack, kneeling rail and podium
which held a Bible, its cover dust laden. His first action was to go to the
Bible where he drew a breath and blew the dust away in a plume. He did not open
the book. Instead, he put the aluminum case beside the nightstand and headed
for the mirror.

In the past six
months he had aged little. In fact, the only process he noted was that his
crow’s feet had deepened, the lines stretching closer toward the temples. Other
than that there was nothing to show that he had become hardened over the past
six months with constant drink and the feeling of self-loathing and failure.

Although he
wanted to smile, he did not.

After donning
his uniform as a Vatican Knight, he returned to the mirror and contorted the
beret to specs, the embroidered symbol of the team, the powder blue shield and
silver Pattée, stood front and center. His clerical collar was pristine, his
shirt and pants pressed.

Kimball was now
in his element.

After cleaning
his quarters a knock came at the door, a few sharp raps.

It was Leviticus.
And the two men embraced.

“The pontiff
wishes to speak with you,” Leviticus finally told him.

“Our first
mission?”

“In a manner of
speaking, yes. But it’s not what you think, Kimball.”

“How so?”

“Bonasero’s life
may be in jeopardy.”

#

Kimball sat before
the
papal desk with Leviticus sitting beside him. Bonasero Vessucci could not have
been happier, his expression a genuine model that this gathering was an
overwhelmingly joyous affair.

“You have no
idea how good it is to see you again,” he said. “To see the both of you
together.”

Kimball nodded.
“And you, Your Holiness.”

“Kimball,” he
spoke to him in a rare but subtle tone nearing admonishment, almost childlike
in its inflection. “To you I’m Bonasero. We have been through too much together
to bandy about titles, yes?”

Kimball smiled.
“Then it’s Bonasero.”

“Good.” The
pontiff sat back in his chair. “But the issues I propose to you both will be
hard to accept, I’m afraid. Leviticus already knows, but I believe that an
attempt on my life will be committed very shortly.”

“By whom?”

Bonasero sighed.
“I believe by the good Cardinal Angullo.”

“Angullo?”
Kimball sounded incredulous. He knew the man and envisioned him as someone
incapable of lifting a hand against somebody, let alone as someone capable of
driving a stake through another man’s heart. Again, he said: “Angullo?”

“He is not the
same man, Kimball. He’s been a man driven by his own ambitions rather than
seeking the true nature of God. He’s lost his way and I truly believe that he
murdered Pope Gregory.”

An awkward
moment fell between them as Kimball digested this, hearing for the first time
that Pope Gregory’s death was no accident as the press had indicated.
Murdered
?
“You think Cardinal Angullo killed Gregory?”

“I’ve no proof,
but yes.”

“And why would you
think that?”

“Cardinal
Angullo knew that I was part of the
Preferiti
and engineered my removal
as Vatican secretary of state, as soon as Pope Gregory entered office. Promises
were made to ensure Gregory’s station as the pope with certain favors granted
to Angullo should his camp join Gregory’s to ascertain the votes necessary.
Once I was removed, then he set himself up in a position to succeed the throne
upon Gregory’s passing.”

“And because of
that you think he murdered the pope?”

“I say that
because I know it’s true in my heart, Kimball. Cardinal Angullo has conspired
to the papal throne for some time, often making deals for favors to promote his
own best interests, which is not the way of God or the Church.”

“Yeah, but,
Bonasero . . .” He let his words falter. For one supreme clergyman to take the
life of another, it was incomprehensible. 

“Despite what
you may think, Kimball, murder has always been an unfortunate undermining
within the Church. Satan has his reaches everywhere by turning good souls into
dispassionate ones by corrupting them with power.”

Kimball was
still having a hard time buying it.

So when the pope
saw this, he continued on. “Cardinal Angullo has already been told that he is
being reassigned, which means that his power within the Church is crumbling as
we speak. With the limited time he has left, I believe he will make a well,
thought-out attempt on my life.”

Kimball looked
at Leviticus and saw that he was a believer. And though he had no reason to
disbelieve the man whom he had grown to love as a father, he still found it
difficult to swallow. “Angullo couldn’t fight off a fly,” he finally said.

“The man has
guile and ambition, the two tools necessary for an assault.” The pope leaned
forward in his chair, placing his arms and tenting his fingers on the desktop
before him. “Kimball, maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. I set the gears in
motion. If Angullo is going to strike, then it will be soon. I need the two of
you to keep this from happening.”

“Of course,” he
said. “When is he being transferred?”

“I’ve put word
out that he is to leave within the next three days.”

“So you think he
may act by when? Tomorrow?”

The pontiff hesitated
before answering. “If he is a man of true desperation,” he began, “then I
believe that he may act as early as tonight.”

Kimball sat
there gnawing on his lower lip, wondering how he was supposed to raise a hand
against a leading clergyman.
Nothing like coming back to the Vatican and
walking into a dilemma
, he thought.

He continued to
nibble on his lower lip.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX

Tel Aviv, Israel, Mossad Headquarters

Yitzhak Paled moved up the
chain-of-command as required. First beginning with the Israeli Defense
Minister, and then ending up with the Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. Talk
was plentiful, to say the least, the inevitable outcome being that Israel’s
sovereignty must be protected at all costs regardless of the United States’
input, which would be to stand by with guarded patience and let the sanctions
take hold, crippling Iran further. Israel’s stance on the matter was that Iran’s sanctioned position was pushing the Arab state into a corner, forcing them to fight
their way back into contention.

Now, with the United States taking the position of playing both sides of the fence by supporting Israel, but not entirely, left Israel to act accordingly to the situation growing at hand. Iran was in possession of a WMD in an unchartered facility in the Alborz region, the
coordinates given to the US command so that they could hone their satellites to
the targeted position. Secondly, Aryeh Levine was off the grid, the man
presumed dead, which means that the Iranian political constituency knew that
they had been compromised and was most likely forming a plan of evacuation.

If Israel needed to act, then the time was now, before the WMD was removed from the facility.

There was a
three-way conversation going on the speaker phone. A live feed was also being
dispatched on wall monitors so that all three men—the Defense Minister, Prime
Minister and Yitzhak Paled—could see each other in high-definition quality.

In a small
conference room that was paneled with light wood tones, Yitzhak Paled sat at
the end of the table, facing the wall screens. On the left was Netanyahu. On
the right screen was Defense Minister
Ehud Barak.

“What is your final analysis?”
asked
Netanyahu.

Yitzhak spoke
freely. “I believe, Mr. Prime Minister, that if we follow the advice of the United States, then it will be too late,” he said. “I further believe that our man has been
dispatched, since he has fallen off the grid. And it appears that a trace has
been placed on the encrypted message sent to us from the same coordinates it
originated from.”

“From the Alborz
facility?” asked Barak.

Paled nodded.
“They now know it went to Headquarters, which means that they also know that their
position has been compromised. And as we sit here, gentlemen, they are getting
into position to respond accordingly.”

“And this
weapon,” began Netanyahu, his face registering deep concern, “what do you know
about it?”

“We believe that
it was engineered by a Doctor Leonid Sakharov, a one-time leading scientist in Russia. His technology was quite advanced in its time, years ahead of other nations
studying the same science of nanotechnology. A few weeks ago we believe he met
with a known terrorist, Ahmad al-Ghazi, and then he subsequently left for Tehran.” Yitzhak leaned forward, his elbows fanning out across the tabletop, his fingers
interlocking. “From what we gathered, Sakharov’s technology is devastating. We
believe that he has created, fashioned, and programmed a science that is
capable of destroying anything organic—flesh, bone, sinew, anything that was
once alive, while leaving the infrastructure intact.”

“Such technology
exists?”

“It’s been
around since the eighties,” he said. “It’s just been perfected by Sakharov.”

“And how is this
implemented,” asked the Prime Minister.

“We’re not
sure,” he told him. “But there has to be a source to stimulate these bots into
action.”

“Stimulate? You
mean these things are alive?”

“Yes, sir.
They’re living molecular chains programmed to perform accordingly. It’s like
designing a DNA link directly into their system to perform according to the
desire of its programming. A driving instinct, as you will.”

“Yitzhak, do we
know how far along they are with this technology?”

“Unfortunately,
no. Our man on the inside did not expound on that issue. But the fact remains
the same, gentlemen. Regardless of the advancement, of whether or not the
technology has been completed or near completion, I believe we need to act
accordingly despite the wishes of our allies.”

The Prime
Minister mulled this over. “They know they have been compromised,” he finally
said. “So of course they’ll act on their end by denying culpability and, most
likely, move their resources elsewhere.”

“And that’s why,
Mr. Prime Minister, we need to act as quickly as possible.”

“Your thoughts,
Ehud.”

The Defense Minister piped up.
“Whether or not they have completed the program, are close to completing the program,
or nowhere near completing the program, is immaterial. The fact is that they
are devising a weapon of mass destruction with no other intention but to
destroy—plain and simple. They can manage a leg to stand on by claiming that
their nuclear program is geared toward energy needs. But if we attack this
facility based on a single encrypted message, and if it doesn’t pan out to be
true, then we put Israel in a very precarious position.”

“But if it is true?” asked the
Prime Minister.

“Then we act accordingly. We
take out this facility with a sortie. We attack the fuel cells, which will
implode the facility, and take out its resources. It’s a simple resolution to
the problem. But in retaliation Iran will rattle its saber, condemn the state
of Israel by declaring war, and then call upon its Arab brothers.” On the
monitor the Defense Minister leaned forward, his image looming large. “Yitzhak,
based on this encryption, how sure are you regarding this technology?”

“Aryeh Levine was one of our
supreme assets,” he told him. “The message was a quick feed, so we believe that
his time was limited, so he got off enough hoping that we could decipher the
materials he presented to us.”

“And if you deciphered wrongly?”

“I strongly believe that
Levine got enough of the message across to state the purpose of the facility’s
intent. They are building a weapon of mass destruction. And given how they feel
about Israel, they will use it against us.”

The Defense Minister fell back
into his seat. “The president of the United States is not on board for a
full-on strike, even though their CIA has verified the location of the facility
in the Alborz. This proposes another problem.”

“With all due respect, Mr.
Prime Minister, if we should strike then oil prices will rise, putting America’s economy at risk. This is not about the American economy, which is their sole
concern. This is about Israeli sovereignty.”

The Prime Minister had to
concur.

And then: “I believe a strike
is warranted,” said
Netanyahu. “I will contact the U.S. and inform them of our intentions. Ehud, alert the command center and inform the
Ramatkal
at
the IDF to prepare for a strike. Tell them to remain on alert status waiting
for the go.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Yitzhak.”

“Yes, Mr. Prime
Minister.”

“Your man better
be right. If not, then we may be on the verge of a World War once this is said
and done.”

“I understand.”

“Then let’s make
this work.”