I want to stay within the Light, thought Kimball, where there’s peace of mind.
The hand’s warmth upon Kimball’s shoulder remained with the sensation growing within him like the spreading ripples of a pond after a cast stone had broken the water’s surface.
And then: The Light, Kimball, is an eternity of bliss that comes to those in time. However, it’s equally necessary that people like you who use the Dark to serve the Light must remain within the Gray . . . until all men are good.
Kimball shook his head. I’m tired.
And yet, you continue to be drawn back by your own free will. Why do you think that is?
Kimball shrugged inwardly. I’m not sure.
Perhaps, Kimball, you have been wired to do what you do . . . because it was meant to be. Until all men are good, then we must keep our sword sharp and ready. And you, Kimball, are that sword. Worry not of the one who sees himself aligned with false spiritualism. For his Light has dimmed greatly while claiming to do the bidding of God as he wears the mask of a righteous man, only to cover his true face that is the False Prophet.
Kimball sighed. Tell me, have I achieved the Light?
Your Day of Judgment has yet to be fully written.
And should the church fall in the aftermath of one man’s coming?
Since the future has yet to be written, the Voice stated evenly, it’s the telltale signs that always lead to the insights of possible conclusions. The Light does not stand idle as Darkness pervades. Now, as one who stands within the Gray, Kimball, perhaps these signs will provide you with the necessary insight to see ahead in time to deflect a preordained darkness.
I’m not a soothsayer.
No. But you have reason and logic. You see things as they fall into place. You know what’s going to happen before they do. As I said, you were wired to be different.
And if I fail?
To give at a time when time requires you to give all, and should you give all, do you deserve to be condemned?
Given my past . . . I’m not sure it matters since I kill people. It’s what I do. It’s what I’m good at. I’ve killed women and children to promote agendas. I’ve done terrible things.
Is not the guilt of your past actions a sign of self-lamenting? Do you not feel shame for these actions? And if you do, are these not the signs of a man who is in repentance? And is not repentance the beginnings of one’s moral realignment as he views his wrongs and wishes to amend himself through improvement? Deliverance, Kimball, is the final outcome of an individual who feels totally absolved from his sins . . . even as he walks within the Gray.
It seems that whenever I take one step forward, then I do something and take two steps back. I can’t seem to get ahead—the Light growing dimmer, not brighter.
It’s not a race, Kimball. What you do, you do because you believe it’s right. You think it’s the cure to what’s ailing the moment. There was a pause, a moment that was engulfed with indescribable peace, and then the Voice continued. If the shadows continue to grow as they appear to be without intervention to impede their efforts of doing so, a great danger will encompass the Vatican. A pall will linger above the city as the False Prophet sits upon his throne allowing Darkness to take spiritualism away instead of giving. It will punish instead of reward. And there will come a time, Kimball, where you may have to decide between the love of the woman you covet, or the safety of the church which has provided you with a chance at redemption.
Kimball shook his head. I don’t understand.
If the shadows remain, you will.
As soon as the hand lifted from Kimball’s shoulder, the Vatican Knight opened his eyes. The calm, the peace and the warmth that had eclipsed him were all gone. Suddenly, Kimball realized that he was standing within the cool, blue shadow that had been cast by the Baldacchino.
Turning, Kimball knew that he would not see the man behind the Voice, but only the emptiness of the Basilica. It was quiet and he was alone. The Voice, always coming at moments of deep stress, had disappeared as magically as it had appeared once inspiration had been granted.
. . . You may have to decide between the love of the woman you covet, or the safety of the church which has provided you a chance at redemption . . .
. . . I don’t understand . . .
. . . If the shadows remain, you will . . .
Along the floor as the shadows of the Baldacchino appeared to be lengthening, Kimball reached inside his pocket, grabbed his phone, and within the shadow of the altar, he placed a call.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Rome, Italy
Shari Cohen was heading for her apartment on Via Sistina the moment the horizon began to show dimming hues of orange and yellow. But by the time she rounded the corner of her street, the streetlamps winked on to fully declare nightfall. As soon as her apartment came within view, her cellphone rang with the incoming call from Kimball.
She enabled the phone and said, “Hey.”
“I’m sure you’ve received the related intel,” he said.
“And then some,” she answered. “D.C. was able to neutralize the threat on their front, but the Bangladeshi remains hidden from view after he absconded with the WMD from his last known location. He knows he’s the subject of a manhunt. And that’s what worries me most. He’ll remain off the grid until an opportunity rises.”
“I’ve dealt with him before,” Kimball stated. “On Mount Sinai. And I’ve seen the current photos that have been downloaded into the systems after his surgical alterations. The man’s a chameleon, Shari. And he’s intelligent. If given the slimmest chance to succeed with this mission, he’ll use it to
