Pandora's Ark (31 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Vatican City
,
The Day of the Unveiling

The day was a glorious
one with scarce cloud cover and a bright, hot sun. Throngs of people filled St.
Peter’s Square, a sea of heads bobbing and weaving to get a better look at the
doors leading into the Basilica, which were closed.

Wading
through the masses looking for suspicious activity wearing plain clothes was
the Vatican Security Team, who maintained constant contact with the SIV, who in
turn were in contact with Kimball Hayden. The
Polizia Municipale
maintained the lines at
the city’s borders. And Italy’s elite police squads and sniper units held
positional vantage points on rooftops and elevated posts that overlooked the
Square.

All
teams fell under the same umbrella of communiqué with the SIV Command Post,
which was manned by Farther Auciello and his team of Jesuits. Should a team
fail to forward their rendezvous code by radio every five minutes, Auciello
would then communicate to Kimball of team failure, requiring possible backup
from the Vatican Knights.

Before
the papal alter inside the Basilica, dignitaries from all over the world—political
and religious—ranging from presidents to vice presidents to prime ministers,
most notably Vice President John Phippen of the United States and Prime
Minister Cameron from Great Britain, along with world leaders from Europe and
South America, religious icons ranging from Imam Qusim Abul to the elite rabbi
faction of Israel, who sat with the Catholic representative of the pontiff,
Pope Pius XIV, with each man each lending a hand of friendship to the other,
biases and prejudices forgotten.

Sitting
before the altar covered with a scarlet fabric with scalloped hemline draped over
it, sat the crate containing the Ark of the Covenant.

Voices
rose in anticipation.

And
Bonasero Vessucci couldn’t have been more pleased. Not so much with the
unveiling of the Ark, but of the congregation of people from all walks of life
with different beliefs and agendas who came together under the banner of
friendship and peace. The smiles, the acceptances and tolerances of one
another, were completely genuine.

The
pope excused himself and went to the rear of the Basilica where Kimball and his
team manned the monitors form the
Baldacchino
, out of sight. They were
in full gear, however, wearing the clerics’ shirts, Roman Catholic collar,
military boots and pants.

“The
unveiling is going to happen in fifteen minutes,” the pope told him. “Are there
any issues thus far?”

Kimball
nodded. “Everything appears copasetic,” he told him. “All teams are
communicating. Other than a few skirmishes breaking out in the square from
people jockeying for position to get a better view of the Basilica, everything
looks fine.”

“That’s
what I want to hear.”

Kimball
shot him a thumbs-up. “Everything’s going to be OK, Bonasero. Everything’s going
to be just fine.”

#

Sayyid and
his
two brothers of Jihad stood in front of the Vatican Museum wearing
Polizia Municipale
uniforms. Across the
Viale Vaticano
was the hotel of their choice to set
up shop. From where they stood they could see a sniper and his teammate, which
wasn’t surprising since the observation post gave a direct view of the
Basilica.

Since
they were on the city’s border and the masses were inside the square hoping to
catch a glimpse of the holy relic, the street was marginally deserted. Yet
Sayyid and his team lay low and close to the shadows. More so, they had shaved.
And by wearing the uniforms of the Italian police, they appeared less like
their photos from the Watch List.

Sayyid
turned to his teammates, the laptop in his hand but within a soft case, and
said, “You know what to do,” he told them. “Make it happen.”

The
two men walked across the street and entered the hotel.

#

The two Arabs
entered the hotel’s lobby and were greeted by the clerk, who raised his hands
in gesticulation informing them that the upper levels of the hotel were off
limits until after the Ark’s unveiling, even to the
Polizia Municipale
.
 

One
of the Arab’s closed in and leaned against the desk. “Is that so?” he said in
fluent Italian.

“I’m
afraid the upper levels are cordoned off by Special Forces.”

“Special
Forces? How many?”

“Four.”

Four
.
It was more than they had anticipated.

“Thank
you,” he said. And then he removed a pistol with a suppressor from under his jacket
and shot the clerk in the head, a hole magically appearing between the man’s
eyes as he fell dead behind the counter.

The
two men then began to climb the steps.

#

Two officers
of
Italy
’s
 
elite
 
NAS
 
police
team stood
post at the top of the stairwell that led to the roof. As one of Sayyid’s
teammate took the steps, he was halted by one of the officers who raised a hand
to stop the Arab from taking another step.

“Stop
right there,” he ordered. “I’m afraid the upper levels are off limits for
another hour or two.”

“But
I am from the
Polizia
Municipale
—”

“I’m
afraid the upper levels are off limits,” he repeated sternly. “Even to the
Polizia Municipale.”

“I
see.”

The
Arab turned and began to descend. And then he stopped on a lower step before
facing the officer once again. “You are NAS, yes?”

“Please
move along, Officer. I won’t ask you again.” By this time the second NAS officer
joined his teammate, a small assault weapon in his hands.

Two
on the roof, two in the hallway leading to the roof, for a total of four,
considered
the Arab. The entire NAS team was accounted for.

The
Arab smiled. Neither officer held the point of his weapon at him, but downward,
an act of complacency.

“For
elite soldiers,” the Arab said, still smiling, “you never would have made my
team.”

The
Arab stepped aside, allowing the second Arab to round the bend of the stairwell,
his pistol already drawn, the point of the laser light finding its mark of the
first officer.
Tap! Tap
! Two shots to the man’s throat, throwing wads of
meat and gristle into the background, the officer falling backward to the
floor, eyes already at half-mast, his life extinguished as he landed hard on
the floor.

The
second target was bringing up his weapon, fast, the mouth of the barrel rising,
rising.
Tap! Tap
! Two more shots, loud spits in quick succession through
the suppressor as the bullets scored, shearing off the left side of the
officer’s head as blood, gore and gray matter marked the wall next to him in a
macabre Pollock design.

The
Arabs raced up the stairs, their guns ready.

#

Sayyid
checked his
watch. There were thirteen minutes left for the unveiling, give
another five to lift the lid from the Ark, a total of eighteen minutes.

He
checked his watch. His team had already been in the hotel for two minutes and
the sniper team was still manning their posts.

What’s
taking them so long
?

There
were twelve minutes left.

#

The NAS
sniper
examined the grounds surrounding the Basilica through the lens of
his Leupold scope, the crosshairs bouncing from person to person in St. Peters
Square. Everything appeared fine.

His
NAS partner stood looking through binoculars. In his ear was a communication
bud. Every five minutes he reported his call sign, which was ‘Kill Shot One-O-One.’
He checked his watch. He had two minutes to go before calling in his sign to
SIV.

#

The two Arabs
were quiet when they opened the door leading to the roof, the sunlight slanting
into the stairwell as the door slowly opened, the beam getting wider.

They
moved softly and quietly, their guns holding steady.

Footfall
after footfall, with the gravel beneath their feet failing to yield a noise,
they neared the NAS team.

The
Arab on the left aimed his weapon, the red dot finding the base of the skull of
the sniper, and pulled the trigger. The officer snapped backward, his spine
arcing, the point of his rifle aiming upward, and then he fell backward onto
the roof, hard, the rifle skating freely across the gravel.

The
second NAS officer stood in awe, his mind not appearing to register the moment
or the reality of his partner’s death. He was unarmed, the binocular in his
hands a useless weapon.

“Come
here,” said the Arab, beckoning the man closer with his free hand, the pistol
in the other. “I won’t hurt you.”

The
NAS officer maintained a nonplussed look, noting their uniforms. And then
revelation that was horribly dark and ugly struck him like a hammer blow. “Please,”
he said, raising his hands slowly, “I have three children.”

Once
the NAS officer moved away from the edge, the Arab shot him in the forehead.

They
then went to the rail overlooking the Vatican Museum. Sayyid was still standing
where they left him, and then waved him up.

After
looking both ways along the
Vaile Vaticano
, Sayyid crossed the street.

#

Two minutes
passed
and Father Auciello did not hear from ‘Kill Shot One-O-One.’ He allowed
another minute to lapse before calling the team.

“Kill
Shot One-O-One, this is Command Center. Do you read me?”

Silence.

Then:
“Kill Shot One-O-One, this is Command Center. Do you read me?”

Still
no answer other than the white noise that continued to sound over the speakers,
an obvious red flag since NAS was impeccably anal about communication protocol.

“Kill
Shot One-O-One, this is Command Center. Are you reading me? Come in, Kill Shot
One-O-One”

When
there was no answer Father Auciello contacted Kimball inside the Basilica.
“Kimball.”

“
Yeah
.”

“We’re
not getting a response from Kill Shot One-O-One.”

“
What’s
their twenty
?”

“The
rooftop of the hotel across the street from the Vatican Museum.”

“
Copy
that. Any teams in the area
?”

“Negative.
They’re 400 meters out and on the borderline of VC. They’re looking for
suspicious activity of vehicles, such as vans and trucks taking the
Vaile
Vaticano
when the street has been restricted.”

“Copy
that.”

“I
hope everything’s Code Five.”

“
I’m
sure it is. Out
.”

#

Sayyid stood
at
the rail overlooking the street and the front of the museum across the
way, and then stared at the magnificent structure of the Basilica’s dome. He
saw the people standing about the square, noted that the doors leading to the
Basilica were closed and locked, a force of Swiss Guards maintaining vigilance
at the gates.

The
good thing about nanotechnology, he thought, was that it did not possess any
smell or emit radiation, hold any biological or chemical traces, or tip its
hand that it even existed at all until it was too late. It was the perfect
weapon of non-detection. And it didn’t matter if they were behind closed doors.
Frequencies were capable of passing through walls and windows, at least enough
to stimulate the bots into action. So by locking the doors of the Basilica,
they have all but sealed their own fate.

And
the fate of those within the plaza was just as bleak, the openings beneath the
locked doors of the Basilica causeways for the bots to enter the open forum of
St. Peters Square.

Sayyid
removed the laptop from his padded case and placed it on the flat part of the
railing. He then lifted the lid and booted up, the laptop whirring to life.

“I
want one downstairs manning the lobby,” he told them. “I don’t care which one.
You decide. The other I want manning the top of the stairway to make sure that
no one gets by, should the man in the lobby fail to hold back the infidels.”

One
of the Arabs stepped forward, waving the point of his weapon at the Basilica.
“It’s quite a ways,” he commented. “Perhaps we’re too far from the bots when
they escape, yes? Perhaps we have a chance?”

Sayyid
nodded. “They will last long enough to enter parts of Rome. Still, we will be
too close.”

The
Arab seemed disappointed in this, which was indicated by his weapon hand
falling to his side.

“You
are disappointed?” asked Sayyid.

“I
was just wondering,” he answered.

“Then
wonder no more,” he told him harshly. “You have chosen to martyr yourself. Do
you think Allah will favor a man who is second guessing his decision?”

“No,
Sayyid.”

“Then
get below and prepare yourself for Glory,” he said. He looked at his watch. “In
less than fifteen minutes you will be in Paradise.”

“Yes,
Sayyid.”

The
terrorist was gone.

#

Moments
before the
unveiling Kimball called upon a bishop to have Bonasero Vessucci
return to the
Baldacchino
.

“I
got a call from SIV,” he told the pope; there was a slight urgency in his tone.
“It appears that an NAS team has not responded according to protocol, so I’m
heading to their position with Leviticus and Isaiah.”