Pandora's Ark (33 page)

#

Kimball had
taken
the gamble and lost.

Stepping
to the laptop, he watched the commands on the screen scroll downward.

And
then he leaned over Sayyid, grabbed him roughly by the collar, and yanked the
man so close that their faces were inches apart. “What have you initiated?” he
asked fiercely. “What have you done?”

The
Arab laughed. And when he did so blood bubbles formed and burst at the corners
of his lips. “You’ll find out within minutes,” he told him. “Within . . .
minutes.”

And
then his head fell back, slowly, his eyes growing vacant as his life left him.

When
Sayyid was dead Kimball released him, and then looked over the railing at the
Basilica with grave concern.

What
have I done
?

#

The mood
inside
the Basilica was a festive one. The Ten Commandments sat inside the
Ark, two bullet-shaped tablets with engravings detailing the laws brought down
from Mount Sinai by Moses.

People
heralded the Ark, the tablets, defining this moment as a great time in history
for all of mankind.

People
banded about, smiling, Arabs and Jews and Catholics becoming a unit of one.
Politicians had their spirits lifted, willing to take back with them what they
had seen and felt, the goodness of overwhelming light and indescribable being,
and then to share it amongst their constituencies.

And
then the joviality came to a resounding halt, smiles withering, ears perking to
the sound of something alien.

From
the depths of the Ark came the resonance of a hum, low at first, but growing in
volume like the nest of agitated wasps ready to take flight.

People
backed away.

The
waspy hum grew louder.

And
then there were cries of pain and fear and the misunderstanding of what was
happening.

Their
skin begin to itch and turn red, like the beginnings of a rash, their flesh
being needled as pinprick bites began to take their toll.

Outside
the Basilica doors, no one could hear their screams.

#

“Leviticus,
do something!”

Leviticus
was a computer expert and hacking his forte. Decoding and deciphering runes,
symbols and encryptions was his specialty. His skills surpassed by few.

He
grabbed the laptop, noted the scrolling symbols, and began to type in his own
set of commands.

From
a distance of 400 meters they heard something quite odd. Coming from Vatican
City was the unmistakable sound of a waspy hum that grew with every passing
moment.

“Hurry
up, Leviticus. We’re running out of time.”

He
typed furiously. The symbols continued to scroll.

The
hum got louder.

#

There was
nowhere
to run, nowhere to hide. The dignitaries ran to the nearest exits
in self-preservation, their flesh now burning as beads of blood began to
surface. They battered frantically at something they could not see, slapping
their bodies, their faces, rashes now becoming open wounds, bleeding.

 
And Bonasero was no different. He was human and life to him was precious. More
so, he was still a creature and as all creatures do, took flight as his skin
began to be eaten away, his mind going into flight syndrome. But his humanity
also kicked in, directing others to the rear of the Basilica in a futile
attempt to get away.

More
cries. More screams. The church filling up with anguished shouts.

And
then he gave in to his fate, the pope falling to his knees, his garments becoming
bloodied.

And
he prayed to God.

#

Leviticus
typed quickly
, his fingers not missing a required key. And then he hit the
ENTER button.

They
watched the screen as the symbols stopped scrolling. A moment later the monitor
winked off, and then on, a new series of commands taking place, scrolling.

Leviticus
had powered down Sayyid’s programming with one of his own.

But
the hum continued.

And
Kimball thought of one thing and one thing only:
We’re too late
.

#

As Pope Pius
lay there with his skin on fire, he was cognizant enough to realize that the
hum was quickly dissipating. And he chalked this up to his soul departing and
leaving the corporeal world behind. The sound, the sensations, everything in
life was leeching from his body.

But
when the sound faded he opened his eyes and looked at the Papal Altar. People
lay about while some belly crawled to nowhere in particular, whereas others
struggled to their feet. Everyone was bloodied. And to Bonasero it looked like
something apocalyptic, the survivors lost and in ruins as they wandered about
with no aim or direction, just . . . walking.

Reaching
down to whatever reserve he had, Bonasero gained his feet, wobbled until the
dizziness faded, and began to help others.

What
had been a blessing had turned into a nightmare, he thought, turning towards
the Ark. Even after all that happened, it continued to maintain its extraordinary
luminosity.

He
looked upward at the stained glass, at the images, and then looked at the
statues of Christ, and then at Michelangelo’s
Pieta
. The Church was
unharmed.

What
happened was inconceivable.

But
they were alive.

And
for that he was grateful.

#

Kimball and
his
team did not waste any time. They raced back to the Basilica, went in
the back way where they ended up at by the
Baldacchino
, and summarily
headed into the main area of the Basilica.

The
people looked war torn, far worse than those in regions where the Vatican
Knights performed rescue duties by saving the lives of Third-World refugees.
These people looked like they had battled for their lives, their bodies
bloodied.

Kimball
stepped forward, helping and aiding those in need.

And
then seeing Bonasero he went to his aid, making sure that the pontiff took to
the floor and rested.

Kimball
knelt beside him, a hand on Bonasero’s back to keep him in a seated position.
“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

“I’m
fine,” he answered almost breathlessly. “The others?”

“Battered,
bloodied, but nothing life threatening.”

The
pontiff forced a smile. “That’s good,” he said. And then: “What happened?”

“It
was Sayyid,” he told him. “He and his team were here. They’ve been
neutralized.”

The
pontiff seemed to understand this and nothing more needed to be said or asked.
Kimball had come through, his team of Vatican Knights defusing the situation
like so many times before. They upheld the sovereignty of the Church, its
interests, and the welfare of its citizenry. They had saved the lives of those
who couldn’t save their own.

“Please,”
said the pontiff, pointing to the dignitaries, “help the others.”

And
Kimball did.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Tehran,
Iran

Al-Ghazi was
livid to the point where he smashed valuable items within his office. His team
had failed. His reputation in the eyes of his supreme leader all but lost.

He
sat at his desk running his fingers through his hair.

At
least he had the disc. He could start over. He could revamp a team and create
what Sakharov had perfected.

He
went to his wall-safe and opened it. Other than a firearm and a few American
dollars, which he pocketed, he grabbed the disc and held it up toward the
light, watching the iridescent waves cross over the disc’s surface. He then
placed the disc inside the inner pocket of his sport jacket and turned to leave
Tehran for the last time.

Only
he was not alone.

Two
men stood in the doorway.

“And
who may you be?” he demanded.

The
men looked impassive and remained unmoving.

This
was not good.

Al-Ghazi
stood tall, showing an air of defiance and bravado. “Who gave you the right to
enter my office unannounced?”

“I
did,” said the man on the left. The man then produced a weapon with a
suppressor as long as the pistol’s barrel and aimed it at al-Ghazi.

Al-Ghazi
blanched.

In
an act of self-preservation he raised a hand as if to stay the oncoming shots. But
it didn’t. His fingers took flight as the bullets smashed through his feeble
defense and into his face, killing him.

The
operatives stood over his body, the one man holstering his firearm as
al-Sherrod entered the office, smiling with his yellow teeth. He leaned down,
reached inside al-Ghazi’s jacket, and removed the disc.

Al-Ghazi
had served his purpose, he considered. And now the data regarding Sakharov’s
findings were solely in the hands of Iranian authority.

Ahmadinejad
would be pleased.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Rome,
Italy, Gemelli Polyclinic

Pope Pius XIV
lay in bed at the Gemelli Polyclinic in Rome recuperating. Although he tried to
put on an air of good spirits, Kimball knew better as he sat beside the
pontiff’s bed.

The
news media hit the nail on the head and cited the incident as an act of
terrorism. Whereas the religious dignitaries wanted to believe in the more
mythological aspects that it was intervention of a spiritual kind, dark or
otherwise, the political principals where more down to earth, believing that
the Ark was tainted with some kind of bacterial, chemical or airborne virus
that was unleashed.

Al-Qaeda
took the blame and proudly, letting the world know that this was the beginning
of the end of all infidels, even though they were not apprised of al-Ghazi’s
death, and therefore without Sakharov’s data to move forward. Nevertheless, it
was still a scary proclamation. But there was no information by the media regarding
the truth behind what really happened—that it was nanotechnology and not the
chemical, bacterial or virus scenario that it was made out to be. The truth was
far more dangerous. Far more terrifying.

“Nanotechnology,”
commented the pope. “”It can be used for good applications. But it can also be
used for wrong purposes as well.”

The
pontiff looked at Kimball; the man’s face was blotchy and scabbed, like a bad
case of shingles. The rest of his body didn’t fare well either. It was
completely bandaged. Nor was he alone. All the dignitaries suffered from the
same maladies but were guaranteed that they would be going home shortly, since
there would be no lingering effects.

Kimball
leaned forward. “The SIV has learned that al-Ghazi was assassinated in Tehran,”
he told him. “They believe by Iranian Intelligence. But nothing is confirmed.
Sakharov remains missing but presumed dead, which wipes out any connection or
ties to al-Qaeda. We believe that Iran maintains Sakharov’s findings, which, in
the long run, could prove costly to the safety and welfare of nations across
the world.”

The
pontiff focused his sight to the ceiling. “Not a good scenario,” he commented.

Kimball
sat back into his seat.

And
Bonasero sighed. “It was a good notion,” he finally said, “to have the Ark
serve in a capacity to bring us all together, only to cause doubts in the end.
A shame. The imam, the rabbis in attendance, all the political dignitaries
wanted to believe that it was something magical, when the magic was in their
hearts all along. And now it’s gone.”

“Perhaps
not,” said Kimball.

But
the pontiff knew better as he lay there, staring.

“The
new secretary of state,” he finally began, “how is he doing during my absence?”

“Cardinal
Estanzio is performing quite well,” said Kimball. “But he’s no Bonasero
Vessucci.”

This
drew a genuine smile from the pontiff’s face.

“And
tell me, what ever happened to Cardinal Angullo?”

The
pontiff’s smile broadened. He just couldn’t help himself. “Let’s just say that
he’s probably enjoying a dish of Dim Sum right about now.”

Kimball
didn’t know what he was talking about.

#

Beijing, China

Cardinal
Giuseppe Angullo, now Cardinal Bishop Angullo, was given the vacant position to
serve as leader of the Beijing Diocese. Although he served a Catholic citizenry
of 2.8% of the city’s population, it still amounted to more than 30,000 people.

He sat in a spartan office overlooking the city. Some days
it was beautiful. On others it was dirty and smog-ridden, the masses of people
intolerable. Worse, he found it difficult to learn the language, his mind
unwilling to focus or care.

He then came to the bitter conclusion that he had lost his
ambition, and with it his faith.

And that Bonasero Vessucci, he considered, was right after
all: He had lost his way.

Staring out the window with the city of Beijing in view, with
a blanket of smog descending upon the masses, he sighed, resigning himself to
his fate of a man who had paved a road closer to Hell than to Heaven.

EPILOGUE

Geneva, Switzerland,
The Museum of the arts d'Extrême-Orient

While
Kimball stayed behind with the pontiff, Leviticus and Isaiah acted on behalf of
the Vatican working as emissaries, making sure that the Ark of the Covenant was
properly situated according to the Imam’s agreement.

After the debacle inside the Basilica, the Ark was
immediately transported back to the Micron Laboratory where the false bottom
was located and the composite removed. The Ark then went through more rigorous
examinations, the results negative. But in order to be accepted by the
Museum of the arts
d'Extrême-Orient, certain precautions had to be taken.

The Ark was hermetically
sealed in a thick Plexiglas container, which meant that oxygen was pumped out
and argon gas pumped in. Once the lab gave the clearance that the Ark no longer
posed a threat and was thoroughly sealed, only then was it accepted.

The trip was by plane. And the
Ark had been placed in a grand-size showroom as the focal point of all the
ancient pieces exhibited.

In its casing it showed
magnificently, its gold aura expanding in its purest form. And despite what
happened in the Basilica, people from all over the world visited the museum and
swore that they could feel enlightenment within its presence, an uplifting, a
sense of goodness that overshadowed anything else.

Others felt nothing at all,
saying that those who experienced anything at all did so only because they
wanted to believe that the Ark was something mythical, and provided solace when
solace was nothing more than a state of mind to begin with.

But Leviticus and Isaiah knew
better as they stood there in suit and tie, feeling something over and above
solace. It was absolute peace.

Once the Ark was in place,
after they had been shown the state-of-the-art security system that was
unsurpassable, they left Switzerland and returned to the Vatican, knowing that Kimball
would be standing on the tarmac ready to brief them on their next mission.