Once the woman hung up, she grabbed her pack of smokes and discovered that she had one cigarette left. Tapping it free from the package, she then crumpled the packet and tossed it to the floor. Lighting the cigarette and then falling back into her seat, she inhaled and released a string of smoke rings, the act in itself a telltale sign of a seasoned smoker.
Her people were in place and the makings of the strategy appeared sound. These were experienced soldiers who did not know the word ‘failure,’ or considered it to be a part of their vocabulary. They were surgical practitioners when it came to warfare, with these men all standing at the top of the pillar looking down.
Kimball Hayden had no chance, she thought. No matter his skillset. And the church would finally be cleansed of his stain.
He’s a cancer to the Vatican, she informed herself. A blight whose past behavior was guided by the devil’s influence. And for that, his sins are too egregious to be forgiven.
Somewhere within the room, a clock ticked off the seconds in loud and measured beats. And as the woman stared at a fixed point beyond a curtain of shadows before her while blowing rings of smoke, she was determined to see the Vatican Knight dead.
“It is,” she whispered, “God’s will.”
Within the ever-expanding shadows of the room, the woman smoked her final cigarette down to its filter.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Atlanta, Georgia
Of the longest trajectories to take from points A to B, the Man from Munich had taken a prearranged route from Paris to the eastern part of the Mexican gulf. He had been on a chartered flight through a private firm with the jet flying at a low altitude to avoid detection, until it landed on an unchartered strip that was owned by the Mexican cartel. For an exorbitant fee, the Bangladeshi had paid the principals of the cartel to see the man through to Atlanta, which was one of the cartel’s main hubs in the United States. Upon successful arrival, the cartel would receive an additional five million dollars in U.S. currency, which would be transferred into an account of their choosing, and usually as a bitcoin exchange.
It had taken nearly a full day for the Man from Munich to arrive in Atlanta. He had taken a zigzag route with the jet having to stop and refuel, and then having to plot a course to the uncharted airstrip. And though he was beyond fatigued and feeling somewhat punch drunk, he fought to maintain his wits knowing what was at stake. The suitcase he carried, the one with the emblem of the oval shape with protruding horns, needed to get to its final destination of Washington, D.C.
Once in Atlanta, he rented a vehicle under an assumed name with the counterfeit paperwork to back up his false identity. Then, after placing the suitcase inside the trunk, the Man from Munich set his navigation screen to begin his northbound journey to D.C. Soon, he would be in Washington where the suitcase would be strategically placed with the fallout of its explosion catastrophic. Though he did not know of its capacity, he did understand that chaos would follow.
With the lids of his eyes growing heavy, the Man from Munich was able to stay awake as he made his way north to the target zone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Safe House
Five Miles from Jerusalem
Efrayim Leibowitz of the Metsada was keeping watch of the safe house that was approximately three-quarters of a mile east of his position. After his communication with the Tel Aviv Comm Center, Leibowitz mobilized his sniper unit to take position along the berm with their targets the armed guards who manned the towers.
From his position inside the lead vehicle, Leibowitz remained uniformly patient as he prepared his Metsada team to storm the castle.
* * *
Sniper One took residence on a sandy ridge approximately five hundred yards east of the eastside tower. Within the crosshairs, a guard appeared less than enthused about manning his post since he was sitting on the banister with his rifle leaning against the wall. He was looking skyward as though he was in search of a particular constellation, even pointing it out upon discovery in confirmation to himself.
“Tango One within my sights,” Sniper One stated softly over his lip mic.
“Take him out.”
Sniper One controlled his breathing and hooked his finger around the trigger. A moment later as the gun bucked slightly, there was a muted spit of gunfire. Through the scope, Sniper One watched the head of his target snap violently against the bullet’s impact, before falling to the tower’s floor.
“Tango One down,” the sniper affirmed softly.
“Copy that.”
* * *
Sniper Two had set his sights on the guard who stood on the upper tier of the second tower. Unlike the first guard, this one was more astute and someone who persistently checked the grounds.
After locking onto his target within the crosshairs, Sniper Two stated lightly into his lip mic, “Tango Two within my sights.”
“Take him out.”
In the subsequent moments, the head of the second guard snapped back with incredible violence as a round penetrated his forehead, and then he buckled straight downward onto the tower’s landing as a boneless mass.
“Tango Two down,” the sniper confirmed.
“Copy that.”
* * *
Efrayim Leibowitz, from inside the truck, calmly commanded his Metsada forces to canvas the perimeter of the safe house for foot soldiers. Like the wraiths they were, the Metsada team used the shadows to advance on the fortress.
* * *
Ali Aziz was a boy who was on the cusp of becoming a man. At sixteen, he had romanticized and then embraced the ideologies associated with extremist factions who were committed to change. One Law Under the One True God—these words having rung through his mind like a mantra with the mantra his calling. He had envisioned death often
