doing
little else since his defection, but he was becoming restless, anxious. It was
not in his nature to be idle, but he didn’t have the first idea what to do
next. A few days later at this same bar, a man wearing a Roman collar and a
cherubic smile took the seat opposite him without permission.
“I really want to be alone,
Father,” he told him. “It’s too late for me, anyway.”
Nevertheless the priest continued
to smile. “We’ve been watching you.”
Kimball could only imagine the
look he gave the priest. “I‘m sorry . . . you‘ve been what?”
“Kimball Hayden,” the priest said,
offering his hand. “My name is Bonasero Vessucci . . . Cardinal Bonasero
Vessucci . ”
And a new alliance was born.
Kimball drew another deep breath
and let it go. The Gulf Stream was flying at an incredible speed.
The time was 1834 hours, Eastern
Standard Time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Boston, Massachusetts
September 23, Early Evening
Steve
O’Brien was second in command of Alpha Team and used the moniker of Kodiak, for
the giant bears of Alaska. Prior to his induction into the squad, O’Brien had
been an Army Ranger, an elite soldier in terms of combat, courage and duty. Now
he was a mercenary, recruited for the tools he had to offer.
He stood six-four and
two-hundred-seventy pounds. His body was pure rippling muscle, his biceps
larger than most men’s thighs. And to keep with his military heritage he wore
his flattop to specs, closely cropped and ruler straight. Running from the edge
of his right eye to the corner of his lip, forever drawing his mouth into a
sneer, was a puckered scar from a wound laid open by an al-Qaeda rebel hiding
in the hills along the Afghan border. The rebel’s victory, however, was short
lived once Kodiak took the knife away and used it against him. He ended up
hanging the rebel’s head on a pike for several days.
The other members of the Alpha
Team had taken the tags of Boa, Diamondback, King Snake and Sidewinder,
monikers assigned by the Joint Chiefs of Staff indicating stealth, poise, and
deadly precision. But Kodiak saw the tags as degrading, since snakes make it a
lifelong journey to crawl along their bellies, something he saw as lowly and
undignified.
Like him, Boa and King Snake were
former Army Rangers, while Diamondback and Sidewinder were Green Berets.
But to this group, Team Leader
remained a mystery.
Nobody knew who he was or where he
came from, but he exuded such raw power nobody dared to consider challenging
him.
Kodiak glanced at his team lying
on the floor around him, sleeping. This was a moment of luxury. He closed his
eyes, then rested his head against the wall. Finding comfort in the fact that
he was surrounded by the deadliest men on the planet, he fell into a much
needed sleep.
#
He was
having a wonderful dream—the happiest,
perhaps the best he had ever had—and then it went away when an alien sound
brought him back to a baffling awareness. Pope Pius XIII finally opened his
eyes, his lids fluttering—the world, the ceiling, still clouded from a
drug-induced haze. And then he realized that he was no longer in a wonderful
dreamscape, but awake in a large room choked with dust and darkness. The
internal walls were gutted, revealing bare studs underneath, and the floor was
trashed with broken plaster, litter and waste. Here was abandonment.
When he turned over on the
mattress he could feel the weight of the chains that shackled him to the brick
wall. On the other side of the mattress lay a coffee can to accept his bodily
wastes during his confinement.
The pope propped himself up on his
elbows and tested the strength of the chain by tugging at the mooring. The
links rattled like a pocketful of coins, but the chain held firm.
“I’m afraid it’s no use. The
plates are anchored firmly to the brick.”
Pope Pius XIII narrowed his eyes
in an attempt to pierce the darkness. What his sight finally settled on was the
vague outline of a man,
little else since his defection, but he was becoming restless, anxious. It was
not in his nature to be idle, but he didn’t have the first idea what to do
next. A few days later at this same bar, a man wearing a Roman collar and a
cherubic smile took the seat opposite him without permission.
“I really want to be alone,
Father,” he told him. “It’s too late for me, anyway.”
Nevertheless the priest continued
to smile. “We’ve been watching you.”
Kimball could only imagine the
look he gave the priest. “I‘m sorry . . . you‘ve been what?”
“Kimball Hayden,” the priest said,
offering his hand. “My name is Bonasero Vessucci . . . Cardinal Bonasero
Vessucci . ”
And a new alliance was born.
Kimball drew another deep breath
and let it go. The Gulf Stream was flying at an incredible speed.
The time was 1834 hours, Eastern
Standard Time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Boston, Massachusetts
September 23, Early Evening
Steve
O’Brien was second in command of Alpha Team and used the moniker of Kodiak, for
the giant bears of Alaska. Prior to his induction into the squad, O’Brien had
been an Army Ranger, an elite soldier in terms of combat, courage and duty. Now
he was a mercenary, recruited for the tools he had to offer.
He stood six-four and
two-hundred-seventy pounds. His body was pure rippling muscle, his biceps
larger than most men’s thighs. And to keep with his military heritage he wore
his flattop to specs, closely cropped and ruler straight. Running from the edge
of his right eye to the corner of his lip, forever drawing his mouth into a
sneer, was a puckered scar from a wound laid open by an al-Qaeda rebel hiding
in the hills along the Afghan border. The rebel’s victory, however, was short
lived once Kodiak took the knife away and used it against him. He ended up
hanging the rebel’s head on a pike for several days.
The other members of the Alpha
Team had taken the tags of Boa, Diamondback, King Snake and Sidewinder,
monikers assigned by the Joint Chiefs of Staff indicating stealth, poise, and
deadly precision. But Kodiak saw the tags as degrading, since snakes make it a
lifelong journey to crawl along their bellies, something he saw as lowly and
undignified.
Like him, Boa and King Snake were
former Army Rangers, while Diamondback and Sidewinder were Green Berets.
But to this group, Team Leader
remained a mystery.
Nobody knew who he was or where he
came from, but he exuded such raw power nobody dared to consider challenging
him.
Kodiak glanced at his team lying
on the floor around him, sleeping. This was a moment of luxury. He closed his
eyes, then rested his head against the wall. Finding comfort in the fact that
he was surrounded by the deadliest men on the planet, he fell into a much
needed sleep.
#
He was
having a wonderful dream—the happiest,
perhaps the best he had ever had—and then it went away when an alien sound
brought him back to a baffling awareness. Pope Pius XIII finally opened his
eyes, his lids fluttering—the world, the ceiling, still clouded from a
drug-induced haze. And then he realized that he was no longer in a wonderful
dreamscape, but awake in a large room choked with dust and darkness. The
internal walls were gutted, revealing bare studs underneath, and the floor was
trashed with broken plaster, litter and waste. Here was abandonment.
When he turned over on the
mattress he could feel the weight of the chains that shackled him to the brick
wall. On the other side of the mattress lay a coffee can to accept his bodily
wastes during his confinement.
The pope propped himself up on his
elbows and tested the strength of the chain by tugging at the mooring. The
links rattled like a pocketful of coins, but the chain held firm.
“I’m afraid it’s no use. The
plates are anchored firmly to the brick.”
Pope Pius XIII narrowed his eyes
in an attempt to pierce the darkness. What his sight finally settled on was the
vague outline of a man,
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