The Hand of Christ (65 page)

The
box
was a small, reinforced safe black in color. Stored inside of it were the counter-authentication codes to the ones that he had just received. It takes two keys to open the box, one of which hangs around the XO’s neck. The other key was held firmly in the Captain’s hand.

He stood and walked to the box; the XO followed ten seconds later.

The Captain inserted his key and turned.

The XO did the same.

Reaching inside, the XO pulled out a small, red index card and handed it to the Captain. On it was a series of letters and numbers.

From the Priority Message the XO read aloud, “Alpha Charlie One One Niner.”

The Captain scanned the card for a moment and then replied, “Confirmed – Alpha Charlie One One Niner. I authenticate; Bravo Delta One Zero Four.”

The two men looked at one another as the rest of the crew breathlessly waited for their orders. The first half of the authentication code received from Headquarters was on the index card. The Captain verified it and then read back the second half to the XO.

The XO verified it. The authentication code on the Priority message was real.

The Captain’s steely eyes didn’t blink and his order was quite clear, “Initiate launch sequence on my mark.”

Every bone in the XO’s body wanted him to stand steadfast. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to be the man known in history as having started a nuclear war.

He hesitated slightly.

His Captain saw this.

The Captain repeated the order, this time louder, “On my mark!”

The XO regained his composure and bolted to the command center. He inserted a second key from his chain into a depressed keyhole on the terminal. He unlocked the small Plexiglas box and lifted it. A small red button automatically illuminated. He looked at his leader and said, “Ready, Captain!”

“
In: three, two, one, mark!”

On the word mark, the XO pressed the button.

On the surface of the Mediterranean, and just a moment prior, Captain Savage finished the same series of steps. Both Captains – unknown to one another – sat in their respective Captain’s chairs; both quietly hoped for the order to recall the weapons.

Chapter Seventy-Five

Yousef’s Reckoning

Rome, Italy

For a moment, Michael stood numb. Lying slumped in the leather chair in front of him was the dead Monsignor. Unconscious and behind him lay the Primitus – the Primus inter Pares: the first Cardinal among equals – and the leader of the Order. Also dead, on the other side of the room, was the Deputy Director of the CIA. Together, all of these men had conspired to start a nuclear war between the US and Iran, and the nuclear tipped missiles were now in the air.

At NORAD, Corporal York stared at the large screens at the front of the CORe Center. He stared at the thermal image of the Professor. He stared at an image that was frozen in place.

“
Professor, what now?” York’s words snapped Michael to attention.

The next words heard were not Michael’s. Yousef regained consciousness and looked at Michael, “You are too late.”

Michael looked back at him, angrily he shouted, “Why, Yousef, Why are you doing this?”

Yousef didn’t answer.

Michael’s voice escalated as he shouted, “Why won’t the code work, Yousef?”

“
The Primitus changed it.” Yousef replied.

“
All of those people, they are innocent and will die! Don’t let this happen! Help me put a stop to this, give me the code!”

Yousef looked at Michael; his eyes belonged to someone else. Michael no longer recognized he friend.

Yousef breathed heavily. His words came out weak, “None of them are innocent, Michael. Can’t you see that? This planet is infested with hordes of evil and apathetic people. Most of them are just cattle, and, without question, blindly follow whoever has the loudest voice or the strongest whip. Every single one of them stares at a cross, a crescent, or a star, and murmurs needlessly for some sort of salvation from their god!”

Yousef paused. He turned his head and spit out a mixture of blood and saliva. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the hand that still remained.

“
Michael, every religion is corrupt and every continent tells the same story: in Africa, women and children are raped by their own people, and boys younger than ten are forced to fight wars; in the Middle East, the laws of Sharia are used to rationalize burying a woman to her neck and stoning her until dead; your own President puts his hand on a bible and throws the name of god around as if it was a headline, and then sends men and woman off to war to kill and to be killed, and for what purpose? Christians kill Muslims, Muslims kill Jews, and Jews kill Muslims. I haven’t even mentioned the Buddhists or the Hindus. How can you even tolerate another day of this?”

Yousef let out a painful laugh and shook his head at Michael.

“
And the most unbelievable part of all of this is that the world has been lied to by the Church for two thousand years! The Church has forced men to fight and die under every religious banner conceivable, but not for the son of god, as they were told; He didn’t even die for their sins! They died only to satisfy the Church’s insatiable thirst for wealth and their relentless desire for power! The Church, knowingly and purposely, perpetuated the lie. The hypocrisy is disgusting! I am only doing what is necessary!”

“
One of those people is my wife! Sonia is your friend! What about Alaina? Is she to die for your cause too? Where does it stop, where do you draw a line?”

For a slight moment, Yousef’s eyes reflected small signs of sympathy.

As a trained interrogator, Michael saw this. This was his chance.

“
Look at me goddamn it!”

Michael hovered over Yousef and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

“
How are you any different than the rest of us? You act as if you are righting some two thousand year old wrong! You pretend that the life of Christ is your motive, but you are just full of shit! You could care less about Christ or the Church. Your motive is greed! Your motive is power! You tried to take over the Order, but look at you now! You are half-dead and your mission is a failure! Do millions of people have to die for your failure?

A thick vein angrily pulsated down Michael’s forehead. His face was inches from Yousef’s.

“
So, I ask you once more, Yousef, how are you any fucking different than the rest of us?”

Yousef didn’t answer.

“
Look around you Yousef! The Director is dead, the Monsignor is dead, your assassin is dead, the Pope still lives, and I have no fucking idea who the hell’s body that is burning in the fireplace! But he’s dead, too! For Christ’s sake, Yousef, they cut off your fucking hand! You were never going to succeed with your plans,” Michael pointed at the still unconscious Primitus. “And he made sure of it!”

Michael used an old interrogation tactic called “The Futility Approach.” Its design was to make one believe that all hope is lost; Michael’s use of it would need to be perfect.

Michael yanked Yousef from the chair, the two men were face-to-face, “If the rest of the world is nothing but the play-pieces of the Order, how are you any more different than the next man? How are you any more than just a pawn? Yousef, you’ve been fucking used; the Primitus strung you along just to get you and the Director here! Now, answer my question you son of a bitch before I take off your other hand! How are you any different than the rest of us?”

Yousef raised his head. He carried the face of a dejected man. He gazed to the Primitus who was lying unconscious on the floor. He looked at his severed hand that still sat on the table. He looked at the dead bodies of Geoffrey and the Director.

Feebly he said, “Michael, what have I done?”

Michael shook Yousef, “If you ever cared for me, for Sonia or Alaina, then there is still time to stop the missiles! Give me the second code! Help me put an end to this!”

Yousef opened his mouth as if to speak, but before he could, CPL York nearly jumped and shouted, “Professor! Look out behind you!”

It was too late, Michael couldn’t react and Yousef couldn’t speak. Four men had appeared from out of nowhere. Their thermal images hadn’t entered the Corporal’s field of view until the moment they had stormed into the room.

Michael had no time to react.

A pistol dug deep into the back of his head. A large olive toned hand reached around and removed the XM8 from his grasp. Two other men had their weapons pointed at Yousef. Michael let Yousef go. The fourth, a very well-dressed man, walked slowly around the leather chair. He stared, first, at Michael and then at Yousef. He wasn’t armed.

Michael saw Yousef tremble with recognition.

The well-dressed man was Lebanese. He was of average height and weight but carried himself with the authority of a much larger man. He wore a white Borsalino fedora, and the hat’s brim arched deeply over his eyes. Thick curly black hair poked from underneath the sides of the fedora. Michael saw small red bumps on his cheeks. His face had been recently shaved. His suit was black with thin white pinstripes and impeccably tailored. The Lebanese man removed the fedora with his left hand and looked at Michael.

Michael squinted at the man. It took less than a few seconds for Michael to recognize him.

Michael growled in a low voice, “Nissam Hashrallah! You are the leader of Hezbollah!”

The President, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and every member of the CORe center were stunned by those words.

The leader of Hezbollah said, “It would seem that you know who I am, Dr. Sterling. I suppose, in this case, introductions are not necessary.”

He knows who I am, too!

The leader of Hezbollah motioned to the two men next to Yousef and barked in Lebanese, “Pick him up!”

The two men roughly picked up Yousef by both of his arms and had him on his feet. Yousef could hardly stand; his stump loudly smacked against the back of the chair and caused him to wince from the pain.

The leader of Hezbollah smiled slightly and walked to Yousef. Tenderly he grabbed hold of Yousef’s arm and raised it in front of him. He inspected the burnt stump as if he were concerned, but then squeezed it so hard that it started to bleed. Yousef tried to scream but the pain was too great. His knees buckled, but the men that held him wouldn’t let him fall.

“
Get him out of here!” the leader of Hezbollah commanded.

The two men obeyed their leader’s command and dragged Yousef toward the door.

“
Wait! Where are you taking him, what are you going to do?”

“
Dr. Sterling,” said the leader of Hezbollah, “Mr. Aramasu has infiltrated my organization and killed one of my Generals and many good and innocent soldiers. He is responsible for the death of the Ayatollah and the attack on Umayyad. He has betrayed Iran and Islam. We will deal with him according to our laws.”

“
But how did you know to come here?”

The leader of Hezbollah put his hat back on, adjusted it, and thought about Michael’s question for a moment. He raised his eyes to Michael and then pointed to the Primitus, “You can thank him.”

Yousef heard this and instantly knew that Michael was right, the leader of the Order had known about his plans all along and had set him up!

Yousef shouted weakly, “Michael!”

Michael looked at his one-time friend but said nothing.

Yousef knew his fate, and so did Michael. Hezbollah would not be kind in their punishment of him. His voice trembled in a way that only a condemned man’s would, “You were right, Michael, I can not let this happen. Your memory is lucid. There is only one way to signal distress. Please tell my wife, tell Sonia that I am sorry.”

The leader of Hezbollah motioned to the two men. They yanked Yousef through the door. The third man removed the pistol from the back of Michael’s head and followed them.

“
I wish you luck, Dr. Sterling,” said the leader of Hezbollah. He touched the brim of his hat as a way to say good-by, and then he left.

Quietly, Michael said, “What the fuck just happened?”

“
That’s what we would like to know.” The President’s voice sounded as confused as Michael’s thoughts.

Michael couldn’t speak. He focused on Yousef’s final words to him. Slowly, a smile crept across his face.

“
Mr. President, I have the second code!”

The President looked over at General Diedrick; both were transfixed on what just transpired in Rome.

Michael’s simple statement resonated and the President spat out, “What? How?”

Michael sat in front of the laptop and said, “Vertices of palindromes!”

“
Vertices of what?” replied the President.

Michael didn’t respond to the President’s question. He typed in 111–000–111 and the system responded with the word “CODE ACCEPTED.”

“
I am in!” Michael shouted emphatically.

The President looked at General Diedrick and asked, “What the hell are vertices of palindromes?”

The General shrugged as if to say, how the hell am I supposed to know?