Ordering his team to finish up with the sterilization process, the task force leader couldn’t help wondering what the Vatican had in their playbook to diffuse an ongoing threat since the Bangladeshi, by far, was the most dangerous amongst the crew. He was gifted with cunning and intelligence, enough to keep him out of the spotlight until it was too late.
And being a pious man, the task force leader hoped that the Vatican would seize upon everything in their power to undermine the Bangladeshi’s attempts. But he also knew—given Amal Purakayastha’s biographical history—that the man known as the Bangladeshi would also be the needle inside of a haystack that was Rome, and no doubt impossible to find.
Within thirty minutes after the breach, the FBI Task Force was gone with Satan now in their custody.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Rome, Italy
The Bangladeshi was inside his vehicle approximately 300 yards from the hostel when a number of Polizia di Stato police cars and a Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza strike van pulled up to the residence. A heavily armed strike team exited the van and raided the hostel, proof that his burner had finally been triangulated with pinpoint accuracy. Sirens sounded off as keen wails while the lights swirled within their bars.
The Bangladeshi, however, remained calm. He knew they would find trace evidence such as fingerprints, since he did not have time to sanitize the area. Though he was careful not to provide the security and CCTV cameras a clear view of his features. Still, he could feel the dragnet expanding and the noose around his neck tightening.
Beside him lay the aluminum suitcase, the False Prophet. As he watched the officers storm the hostel, he caressed the shell of the suitcase with his fingertips. If he was going to deploy the weapon, then he would have to do so within a limited window of opportunity. The authorities no doubt had been alerted to his intentions and were responding to the intel. The fate of the Man from Munich, he considered, knowing that American establishments were one of the best in the world to respond with lightning efficiency, had most likely been removed him from the equation.
He was now alone. And because of this, Ahmed Jaziri would not be happy.
Starting his vehicle, the Bangladeshi performed a U-turn and headed in the opposite direction of the assault brigade. He drove for a half hour trying to find a secluded location, only to find a semi-vacant parking lot close to a museum. Taking a parking space that was a distance away from several cars and a tourist bus, the Bangladeshi set up his laptop and BGAN system, and with great reluctance, connected with Ahmed Jaziri’s encrypted IP address.
A moment later, Ahmed Jaziri appeared on his screen.
“I’m getting communication from my sources that Vatican City has been closed off. And that Washington, D.C. has beefed up its security with the president heading to Raven Rock. I’m also told that the Man from Paris has disappeared entirely off the grid. Is this why you’re contacting me? To explain your position.”
The Bangladeshi did not betray his emotions with his appearance remaining even. “I believe the mission belonging to the Man from Paris has been compromised. He’s not responding to my calls,” the Bangladeshi reported.
“I see. And the Man from Munich?”
“I issued orders for him to move the device into place and to activate the program.”
“So, he’s still active?”
“The last time I spoke to him was an hour ago, so yes, he’s still active.”
“And yet,” said Jaziri, “Washington, D.C. still stands.”
The Bangladeshi remained silent.
“Remember what I said about failure, Bangladeshi? It’s not that you haven’t been warned of the consequences should a single device not go off as scheduled.”
“I promise you, Ahmed . . . Vatican City will fall.”
“Will it? You mean, in the same way you guaranteed me that all three weapons would go off at the targeted sites at a specified time? That kind of a promise, which I’m now discovering, will never come to fruition?” Ahmed Jaziri leaned towards the screen so that his face took up the entire monitor. “You took a half billion dollars in cryptocurrency in exchange to take out three specific targets: Tel Aviv, Washington, D.C. and Vatican City. Five hundred million. And now you contact me to give excuses. You don’t think I know that? You’ve failed not only me, Bangladeshi, but also my constituency. What you were supposed to do was to incite a movement with the detonation of these weapons. The entire Middle East would have been encouraged by the fall of these cities. And now you think the fall of Vatican City is good enough to appease me. Think again.” Jaziri fell back into his seat. “Perhaps I’ll consider your offer, Bangladeshi, if—and only if—I achieve the desired results from the detonation of the False Prophet. But you brought this on yourself with your failures. You know this. It’s what we agreed upon.”
“The cause is not lost.”
“The cause has been significantly weakened through a series of failures, something I see as unacceptable. And the amount of five hundred million in cryptocurrency as payment to your account allows me this privilege.”
“I will not fail,” the Bangladeshi told him. “Vatican City will fall with the False Prophet placed directly on the heart of the church.”
“Really. And you have a plan of opportunity?”
“I do,” the Bangladeshi lied.
“Would you mind expressing in detail to me the mechanics of the operation.”
“I’ve much work to do and my time is valuable. But I promise you this, Ahmed, within the next twenty-four hours, Vatican City will be sitting upon a scorched earth.”
Ahmed Jaziri stared at the Bangladeshi through the screen. Then: “Redemption can only be achieved if the city falls and the Middle East rises as one against a common foe. Perhaps, Bangladeshi, I will favor you upon success.”
The Bangladeshi knew that this was a lie and a fabrication. Ahmed Jaziri was a
