“You said the woman’s a federal agent?”
“She’s a heathen like Kimball Hayden,” Antle returned. “Like him, she wears the veneer of an angel but has the soul of a demon. When it comes time to commence the operation, you’ll be wearing Kevlar masks with voice modifiers to mask any possibility of being identified, should matters go south. Kimball Hayden will be apprised of the woman’s abduction and provided with a list of demands. Believe me when I say that this man would move mountains to get to her. So hopefully, he’ll be compliant to assure her safety. Once he’s within our authority, he will be tried according to his transgressions along with the sins of the woman, and then they’ll be sent to Hell where they belong. The church will finally be purged of the cancer that’s been Kimball Hayden.”
The former commandos nodded and listened, as Antle provided them with the mission outline. Though the plan at the moment appeared to be rather thin, it would soon be fleshed out and well-muscled. At the immediate moment, the intention was to pull Kimball Hayden into battle with Shari Cohen serving as his enticement. They would threaten her life forcing Kimball to show up on his knees begging for her life. As Kimball Hayden had turned a blind eye against God, the Nocturnal Saints would do the same by sending them both to the much-deserved underworld where they belonged. Only then would the blemish within the church be forever removed, with the threat of approaching Darkness having been battled back.
“Yeah. No problem,” said Mannix, who’d been the established commander in the field.
“I’ll inform the handler that you’ve arrived,” she told them. “And then we’ll start with the first stage of the operation.”
As the SUV continued along through the streets of Rome, no one stated a word or voiced an opinion since the objective had been made clear: Kimball Hayden, along with the woman, were to be terminated.
CHAPTER
NINE
Paris, France
As soon as the Bangladeshi received his money and moved it as cryptocurrency, it didn’t take him long to hire a team of known mercenaries with military backgrounds, though they had not come from specialized forces. The pay was exorbitant and appealing with seven-figure amounts, enough to last two or three lifetimes in the Seychelles, or perhaps on a Tahitian island. Either way, he was able to piece together a working team.
Now that the currency had been moved into cyberspace and into offshore accounts, the Bangladeshi was finalizing his plans to assure the success of a three-way campaign. One man would head for Tel Aviv with the second man going to Washington, D.C., both through backdoor channels to assure that his couriers would go undiscovered by authorities. Whereas his target site would be Vatican City.
Strategies had been designed with the approval of two men who would be known as the Man from Paris and the Man from Munich. These men would use the Bangladeshi’s connections to get them through sentry posts and border patrols. Once the weapons detonated and the cities destroyed, only then would they receive their final installment into their virtual wallets as cryptocurrency.
After the last details had been hammered out and his team dismissed, the Bangladeshi stood inside the shed looking at the Goliath Chamber with keen appraisal. He noted the carvings of winged demons who were guardians and keepers of the Unholy Trinity—and were perhaps the metaphoric images of the destructive power within.
As the lightbulb burned dimly from a crossbeam running along the ceiling, he could see the suitcases inside. Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet were about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world. Though the powers of each contained a one-kiloton blast, the effects would be enough to atomize anything within a square mile. The spread of radiation beyond that would simply be an added bonus with Rome, Tel Aviv and Washington, D.C. all becoming poisonous wastelands for a thousand years.
Taking his bony hand and using the back of it to caress the suitcases with loving passes, the Bangladeshi realized that chaos would soon follow, and scores would die. Inwardly, he was not motivated by the causes of others, but of building a financial empire. A half billion-dollar selloff was not only a triumph, but a financial windfall that most men could only dream about. And it was Faruk who had taught him that everything was about money and that the universe revolved around it. And, in time, as the coffers grew, the mounting funds would bring with it an untold power and the right to rule over one’s personal kingdom. But the caveat was that he would always be the bullseye within an adversary’s scope.
But the Bangladeshi dismissed the crosshair theory because Abesh Faruk had foolishly lived his life in the open for the most part, and as a result of this he had paid for that mistake with his life.
The Bangladeshi knew that he would be more chameleonlike, out of sight and of mind.
Shutting off the dangling overhead light, the Bangladeshi left the shed, chained the doors together, and returned to the house that was mired and hidden within the thick brambles and behind gnarled and twisted trees.
CHAPTER
TEN
The Pope’s Chamber, Apostolic Palace
The Vatican, Vatican City
Pope Clement XV was sitting at his desk when his phone rang. He hit the speaker button. “Yes.”
The voice on the other end was raspy, and a voice he instantly recognized. “The pieces are in place,” the woman informed. “Target acquisition goes three nights from now.”
“Excellent,” responded Pope Clement. “Acquiring the package will give you leverage over the Vatican Knight, which in turn will render him incapable of calling upon his team. Certainly, your unit can take one man alone, yes?”
“Presumedly so . . . And the target?”
“If you’re to commence the operation three nights from now, I will personally
