Pandora's Ark (32 page)

“We’re
moments away from the unveiling, Kimball.”

“I
know that. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

“Where?”

“They’re
on a rooftop directly across from the Vatican Museum.”

“That’s
quite a ways off.”

“But
still within sniper range.”

“But
the dignitaries are inside.”

“Who’s
to say that they’re the targets? If someone is there, perhaps they have another
agenda.”

“Please
be careful,” he returned.

“I
plan to.” Kimball removed his ear buds and motioned to Leviticus and Isaiah to
follow. The good thing about Kill Shot’s position was that it was opposite the
square and through Vatican grounds, where the public was not allowed. It was nothing
but open fields, gardens and walkways, a straight an unimpeded path. They would
be there within minutes.

#

When Pius
returned
to the dignitaries he did so as the emcee. He stood next to the
guarded crate, a hand on the fabric.

Looking
over the audience and seeing the almost child-like anticipation they harbored,
he waited no longer. With the aid of accompanying bishops he removed the
fabric, pulling it away from a Plexiglas enclosure.

The
Ark of the Covenant, even in its casing, glowed with such radiance it was
almost too much to believe or comprehend that gold could cast such light. It
was astounding, the ethereal glow reaching outward as if trying to touch the
audience, to accept them within the warmth of its magnificent aura.

The
dignitaries stood in paralytic awe, mouths suspended. From some tears slipped
from the corners of their eyes, the moment overwhelming.

“What
I show you,” began Bonasero, “is more than the true Ark of the Covenant. What I
offer you is the beginning of the healing process where all religions, all
faiths, and all denominations can share and enjoy the true meaning this relic
provides to all of us.”

The
Plexiglas was then removed with great effort, allowing the Ark to stand alone
before the Basilica’s altar. Dignitaries and religious leaders bandied around,
touching it, bathing in its glory, its aura, swearing upon their souls that
they could feel an indescribable elation. More people wept, including political
principals suddenly enlightened by their misguided values, hoping that God would
forgive them for their wayward follies. For some this was an epiphany. For
others it was an awakening that the power of the Ark was real and beyond
anything manmade.

There
was no doubt that this was the true Ark of the Covenant.

The
imam was the first to inquire. “And when can we open the lid, Your Holiness?”

Pope
Pius returned the imam’s smile with one of his own. “Now,” he said. “We can
open the lid now.” With a motion of his hand he gestured for the bishops to
carefully lift the lid and set it aside, which they did.

When
the seat of the Ark was carefully placed down, the masses crept forward for a
view of what lie within.

The
first word spoken:
Amazing
.

#

Kimball,
Leviticus and
Isaiah hastened across the grounds, sighting the back of the
museum. When they reached the
Viale Vaticano
, they remained hidden
behind the concrete columns until they could verify Kill Shot’s team and move
forward.

The
street was quiet. Even from this distance they could hear the cheers of the
crowd.

The
team could see a single man standing at the edge of the hotel’s railing
obviously working a laptop. No one else was in sight.

“Is
that NAS?” asked Leviticus.

Kimball
held his hand out to Leviticus. “Got a scope?”

“No,
but Isaiah does.”

Isaiah
handed Kimball a long monocular, which Kimball used to zoom in on the man at
the railing. It was the man he had seen in the photos. Although he was clean
shaven, he had no doubt that it was Sayyid. He handed the monocular back.

“Kill
Shot’s dead,” he told them lightly. “That’s Sayyid, which means his two goons
are somewhere close. One in the lobby, for sure. Maybe both.” Kimball handed
the scope back to Isaiah. “Sayyid’s wearing a police uniform,” he added, “which
is how they got by. I’m sure the others are doing the same, so make positive
confirmation before you engage them.”

“And
the laptop?”

Kimball
nodded. It could have been used for anything. “Maybe to set off an explosive
somewhere.” When he said this it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“We
checked everywhere, Kimball, with bomb-sniffing dogs and tech devices. There’s
nothing out there.”

“What
about the nanotechnology?” asked Isaiah.

Kimball
shook his head again. “The Ark is clean. The entire city has been swept
numerous times.”

 “Maybe
the Ark is a deterrent to throw us off from what they’re really planning to do.
Obviously they’re here for a reason.”

Kimball’s
glanced at his watch. According to schedule, the lid of the Ark had been
removed. And then he returned his gaze to the terrorist. “I’d say we go ask
Sayyid and find out. What do you think?”

Both
men concurred with ‘hoo-rahs.’

 “All
right then: Ready up.”

They
were going in cold and without firearms. But they checked their blades. Each
man had two combat knives, very sharp, very deadly, and precisely balanced for
throw shots.

“Leviticus,
Isaiah, go in the back. I’ll take the front and draw their fire. And be quick,”
he added. “I’m not too crazy about going to a gunfight with a knife.”

“Don’t
worry about us,” said Isaiah. “You just keep your head down.”

They
looked up at Sayyid, who seemed to be lost in whatever he was doing.

“Then
let’s move,” said Kimball.

The
team began to maneuver into position.  

#

The man in
the lobby thought he saw movement, a vague shadow passing quickly across the
frosted-stain glass of the front door, then gone.

The
Arab took position behind the clerk’s desk, taking careful aim with his firearm
in a two-handed stance. The clerk was lying dead at his feet, staring at the
ceiling, his eyes beginning to glaze over with the milky sheen of blindness.

In
a fluid motion the door swung open and someone, or something, tumbled into the
lobby and took refuge behind a low-level wall that was waist high and topped
with vases containing fresh-cut roses.

The
Arab fired his weapon in quick succession. The suppressor muting the rapid
sounds of fire as the doors shattered into tempered chips of glass, the bullets
stitching across the low wall, taking out the vases, rose petals flying
everywhere in a riot of colors. Plumes of dust and drywall erupted as the
bullets decimated the wall, the assassin hoping to find his mark.

When
he emptied the clip he deftly loaded another, took aim, and waited.

The
lobby was quiet.

His
target stilled.

The
Arab moved away from his post and stepped over the clerk with his pistol drawn
in front of him, a keen eye holding steady as to what lie beyond the wall, his
trigger finger applying four of the five pounds of pressure necessary to
discharge his weapon.

He
stepped forward, cautiously, the point of his gun leading the way, the wall
getting closer.

An
image appeared.

Kimball
lay on his back as the haze of the drywall began to settle, his black uniform
becoming laden with dust.

The
assassin smiled and raised his weapon. “
Allahu
Ak
—”

The
Arab’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening, and then he fell to his knees, his
eyes then rolling upward, and then fell forward, hard, the man taking the
teeth-first approach with a knife sticking out at the base of his skull. 

Kimball
gained his feet and attempted to brush away the dust with futile swipes of his
hands. “You were cutting it close,” he said. “Too close.”

“Had
to make sure my aim was true,” said Isaiah. He removed the knife from the Arab,
the blade extracting wetly, and wiped it clean across the Arab’s clothing.

“Eyes
peeled,” whispered Kimball, pointing to the stairwell. “Now we have to work our
way up.” And moving up was never easy, the advantage always belonging to those
who maintain the high ground.

Kimball,
grabbing the assassin’s gun, and then extracting the clip and checking to see
if it was full, reseated it.

The
Knights moved forward.

#

There was no
mistaking that the lobby had been breached, thought the Arab maintaining the
upper level. With the two NAS officers lying dead at his feet, he stacked one
on top of the other to provide a marginal barrier as he hunkered behind them. If
his teammate didn’t stop the incoming wave, then it was up to him to impede
them long enough for Sayyid to complete the mission.

There
was an unsettling quiet, a disconcerting hush.

He
wanted to call out his comrade’s name, but didn’t want to give his position
away.

He
held the pistol firmly within his grip, using the bodies of the NAS officers to
steady his aim.

The
stairway was quiet.

And
sweat was beginning to surface on the Arab’s brow, causing him to sweep his arm
across his forehead.

The
air was stifling, and the minutes seemed to drag on for hours, the Arab
wondering if Sayyid had tooled the laptop to initiate the program.

He
looked at his watch. His heart palpitating. Giving his life to Allah was not as
spectacular as he thought it would be. The act of martyrdom was overrated, he
considered, the thought of Paradise no longer alluring.

He
wanted to run, to live. His mind raced feverishly like a desperate animal
trapped against the corner of two walls with nowhere to go, nowhere to hide,
his killer edging closer with the intent to kill, emblazoned in his eyes.

Although
his killer went unseen, he could sense him coming closer.

He
swallowed, looked at his watch. Sweat was coursing profusely along his face.
And then self-preservation took over. The Arab stood, yelled, his eyes going
feral, and descended the steps shooting blindly at the shadows, at anything
that appeared to move, striking nothing but wall, pocking them. When his clip
emptied he fumbled to seat another, the time wasted a fatal one. A bullet found
its mark, a shot to the center of body mass, rupturing the man’s heart.

The
Arab fell like a stone, dead the instant his knees began to buckle and before
falling down the stairwell in a tumble.

Leviticus
took the man’s weapon, grabbed the remaining clip, seated it, and along with
Kimball and Isaiah, climbed the last leg of the staircase.

#

Sayyid was
unaware
of what had taken place inside the hotel, since the weapons were geared
with suppressors. But he was not totally without the perception that the hotel
had been breached, since he saw glimpses of shadows attempting to maneuver
across the
Viale Vaticano
in clandestine manner. It was like sighting
something at the edge of his periphery vision, but not quite seeing it in its
totality.

But
it was there no matter how obscure it may have appeared.

He
ratcheted up his agenda, his fingers dancing, typing, the encrypted runes
becoming letters, the letters becoming commands, the commands initiating the
program.

He
typed faster, sensing that he was not alone. Something was coming closer—up on
his backside.

“Stop
right there, Sayyid.”

The
Arab stared at the monitor. His mission was all but complete. The encryptions
were completely deciphered, the program waiting to be initialized with a single
push of the ENTER button. His finger hovered over the key and hung there.

“I’m
afraid that you are too late,” he said. “What will be, will be. And there’s
nothing you can do to stop this from happening.”

“It
will if I put a bullet in your brain.”

This
time the voice sounded nearer, which meant to Sayyid that they were edging
closer to his position. So he slowly lowered his finger, but not touching down.

“If
you take another step, I will initiate the program. I may not have eyes in the
back of my head, but my hearing is exceptional.” The Arab turned to face his
attackers. He noted the odd configuration of uniform; saw the black clerics’
shirts and Roman Catholic collars, the incongruous combination of military wear,
and the attached sheaths with combat knives.

“You
are not Swiss Guard or Vatican Security, are you?”

They
said nothing, their weapons poised.

“Step
away from the computer,” said Kimball. “It’s not our intention to harm you.”

The
Arab chortled. “I have already resigned to my fate and gladly offer my life in
the name of Allah,” he said. The tip of his finger now touched the button.
“Should you fire off your weapon, then I will push this button by reaction.”

Kimball
aimed the firearm at the man’s head.

And
the Arab saw the directed aim. “Head shot or not, my body will react all the
same.”

Kimball
drew in a breath. The Arab was right.

So
in a quick and fluid motion, Kimball directed his aim and shot the computer.

Unfortunately,
his aim was not true.

#

Sayyid saw
the
quickness of Kimball’s motion and immediately realized his intention.
The Arab quickly shifted his footing, his body acting as a shield as he turned
into the bullet’s path, taking the strike, the computer untouched as the bullet
entered his body and ricocheted until it lodged in his lung, causing
considerable damage but not the killing blow.

Before
falling to his knees, Sayyid depressed the button.