To his surprise, Thorne had managed to bring along her signature Mosberg pistol grip shotgun. He smiled as she jammed in the shells and hung if from her shoulder.
“I see you brought her with you,” he said, attaching his radio and ear piece.
Thorne checked her other weapons, never looking up. “Bitches fair better in pairs.” She racked in a shell. “And this bitch is my favorite.” Robert shined his light around the cavernous, dark cave, focusing the beam on a concrete stairwell to their right. The stairs led up to a heavy steel door that Robert initially thought was locked, but cracked open when he and Thorne leaned hard into it with their shoulders. The door opened up into a dusty basement filled with old artifacts, canvas covered paintings, tools, and other maintenance items apparently untouched for quite some time.
Thorne located another set of stairs that led up to another heavy steel door. When they reached the top, Robert pressed his ear to the cold steel and heard the faint sound of voices and footsteps. As far as he could tell, there were four men on the other side, all Italian speaking, probably natives. He and Thorne turned off their lights and readied their weapons.
Robert gently tested the door, pushing on it softly with his shoulder.
It didn’t move. He tried again, this time a little harder, but the door still wouldn’t budge.
“Hit it hard. I’ll cover us when we get inside,” said Thorne.
“High, low,” said Robert, meaning he’d shoot from the top, and she from a crouched position.
He whispered a three count and rammed the door hard. Thorne rolled inside and came up on one knee, Robert stood above her. Two men, armed in black hooded robes stumbled backwards. Thorne caught them both with headshots. Robert spun around and shot two more with one shot each to the chest and forehead.
Robert checked his kills, pulled off their robes and handed one to Thorne. They put on the robes and folded the hoods down over their heads and picked up the Mac-10 machine guns the guards were carrying.
Robert radioed Father Kong.
“We’re inside,” he told the priest. “They’re definitely armed, so stay sharp.”
“We read you,” Father Kong answered. “We’re moving up to the next position, and will wait for further instructions.” Robert and Thorne made their way down a long, dim hallway, the Mac-10’s in their hands, and their other weapons secure under the robes.
As they reached the end of the hall, Robert heard voices around the corner. He listened carefully, and held up two fingers. Thorne nodded.
They folded their hoods down further over their faces and turned the corner, heads low, and headed for a large wooden door in front of them that looked like it led outside.
“You two!” a voice shouted behind them.
Robert fingered the trigger on the Mac-10, ready to fire. He saw Thorne do the same. They turned around slowly, heads low, eyes looking upward. A fat, bald, small-eyed man wearing the same black robes approached them.
“Are the other two still guarding the back?” the fat man asked.
“Yes,” answered Robert. “We’ll go back and give them a break in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fine, but you know weapons aren’t allowed in the stadium, cardinal’s orders.”
Robert apologized, and he and Thorne handed over the machine guns.
“I’ll put them in the weapons room upstairs. Pick them up on your way back.”
Robert and Thorne nodded, turned abruptly, and headed outside, where more black hooded followers of The Order milled back and forth from what looked like metal grandstands erected in front of a large wooden stage. They quickly made their way to the stands, checking to make sure nobody was watching them. As they approached the seats, a tall black man with hard, almost yellow eyes, stopped them. In the black robe, the man looked like a seven-foot death angel.
“There are no more seats up close, you’ll have to sit at the top,” he told them, in a creepy whisper.
Robert and Thorne nodded and walked up through the middle of the crowd. On their way up, Robert caught a glimpse of a familiar face sitting up front. Alison! He looked over at Thorne, whose angry eyes said she’d already seen her.
They sat down on the top row. Out front in the middle of the stage, behind a long table, stood Cardinal Polletto. To the left, tied to a wooden board, lay Father Tolbert, looking half out of his mind, and close by, stood the bulldog priest, Father Ortega. Three small black coffins, guarded by six men and a woman, were lined up behind the cardinal, and behind the coffins, on the widest part of the deck, was a sight that horrified Robert to the depths of his soul. A crowd of children, bound and gagged, some shaking and whimpering, others laying still with their eyes pressed shut, were piled on top of each other on a wooden deck.
Robert looked over at Thorne. “Do you see Samuel?”
“No, but he could be somewhere in that crowd of children,” she whispered, through gritted teeth.
“We can’t move until we see him,” said Robert. “This is going to be our last chance.”
“Tonight, the old will give way to something new. A new way the world will grasp as its lifeline,” said Cardinal Polletto. “And we, the ones chosen to serve and lead, will tonight bear witness to this rebirth.” The cardinal began to chant something in Latin, his hands high in the air, his face toward the sky. Soon, the crowd in the stands chanted too, standing to their feet, jubilant, celebrating.
“Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum.
Amen.”
Robert and Thorne lowered their heads and mumbled in unison with the crowd. Robert stuck his hands in his robe and chambered a round in his gun. Cardinal Polletto continued to chant as two men raised the board Father Tolbert was tied to, so that the priest’s feet were in the air and his head low. Father Ortega approached Father Tolbert with a large, glimmering knife.
“No, get away from me!” Father Tolbert cried.
Father Ortega moved closer to the bound priest, who screamed louder when he saw him. Robert continued to scan the stage and deck for Samuel, but there was no sign of his godson.
Cardinal Polletto turned around and said something to the woman standing next to the caskets. Each of the small black boxes was opened, and to Robert’s amazement, Samuel was lifted out of the first casket and stood up on the deck.
“It’s him,” whispered Thorne. “And there are the other two.” They continued to watch as Samuel’s twin brothers were placed on the deck. Robert focused hard on Samuel, recognizing the boy, but not the hard look in his eyes. What have they done to you?
Cardinal Polletto raised his hands and everyone fell silent. Robert watched as the cardinal poured water over what looked like black dirt on a silver plate, and walked over to Father Tolbert, who was screaming and kicking. The cardinal smeared mud all over Father Tolbert’s face.
“From earth you came, the father of our savior, to earth you shall return,” said Cardinal Polletto, in a loud commanding voice. “Your name will forever be written in our hearts and mind. Your blood, your seed, gave birth to the savior of this world, and in him, you shall live forever.” Robert and Thorne eased down the middle stairs toward the stage.
Father Tolbert flailed and kicked until one of his hands tore free, just stopping Father Ortega’s blade from finding his throat. Soon, the rabid priest was free and on his feet, slashing the knife back and forth. Robert kept a fix on Samuel, who stood on the deck, unmoved by the events.
Father Tolbert stabbed Father Ortega then rushed Cardinal Polletto.
Robert pressed the small transmitter to his lips.
“Move in!” Robert barked. “Go, go!”
The tall morbid man, who had showed them to their seats, rushed toward them. Robert pulled his gun and dropped him with one shot through his mouth, and one to his forehead. The giant hit the ground with a loud crash, as the crowd fell into a crazed panic. Thorne rushed the stage, the bitch in her hands shooting down anyone who stepped in their way.
68
