Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God (41 page)

“The bastard’s over there,” said Thorne, pointing. “I took care of him myself.”

Father Tolbert, a crazed look in his dead eyes, was laid back over Cardinal Polletto’s body, head tilted back, throat cut wide open.

Robert took a deep breath and started over toward the dead children.

Thorne grabbed his arm.

“Robert.” He turned. Compassion filled Thorne’s face. “Alison’s dead,” she said.

Robert dropped his head. Even though she had betrayed them all, it still hurt.
This whole thing stinks.
“How?” he asked.

“She got caught in the crossfire when our people rushed inside,” said Thorne. “The Order’s people started shooting, and our people answered.

I don’t know who hit her, but she took two small caliber shots to the head.”

They killed her.
Robert turned abruptly. “Let’s get this over with.” He walked over to the covered children and lifted the first sheet.

Thorne, Detective Reynolds and Father Kong spread out and did the same.
Why? Why do this?
Each innocent face seemed to reach inside and suck a little life out of him. Almost every nationality was represented amongst the dead; Indian, Chinese, African, Middle-Eastern.
They must
have taken them from all over the world.

Father Kong, Detective Reynolds and Thorne walked over as Robert examined the last body.

“They’re not here,” said Thorne.

“Maybe they’re still in the water,” said Father Kong. “We can get a closer look in the morning.”

“No,” snapped Robert, tears in his eyes. “I’m going back in tonight.” Father Kong opened his mouth to speak, but Thorne held up her hand. “I’ll go back in with you, partner. I’ll get our underwater gear so we can get a closer look. I’ll meet you down on the rocks.” Robert nodded. “Thanks, partner.”

Thorne gave Robert a firm hug, then grabbed Detective Reynolds and headed for the castle.

Father Kong placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I’ll go down with you.”

As they walked, a sinking feeling of complete dread exploded inside Robert. He fell to his knees and cried. “He’s gone! I’ll never see him again!”

Father Kong knelt down and prayed. When he finished, he helped Robert to his feet. “I know how difficult this is for you. Remember Sister Isabella and the others who have died in this effort. But also remember, you have stopped a great evil tonight, and millions will live because of it.”

Robert heard the words, but they rang hollow. He wanted Samuel back in his arms.
I’d give a million lives to have him back.

T
he following day, and for three months after, members of Il Martello di Dio, along with Robert and Thorne, dragged Bracciano Lake, searching for Samuel and his brothers, but found nothing except for the mangled body of an old man named Giovanni Telfair, and two wrecked vehicles.

Hoping the boys had escaped somehow, Robert, Thorne and Father Kong searched Rome and the surrounding area, using every contact and resource at their disposal, but found nothing.

Detective Reynolds stayed for the first two weeks then headed back to Chicago. Robert had never seen Thorne happier.

Director Thompson showed up with questions Robert wouldn’t answer, but he didn’t press the matter. He offered CIA resources if they were needed. Robert declined.

Now, he and Thorne sat in front of Cardinal Maximilian, now known as Pope Pius VX. The first Pontiff of African-American decent in Roman Catholic history. Father Kong stood by the new Bishop of Rome’s side.

“We’ll never forget you,” said the new Pope. “Here at the Vatican, you have a friend.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” said Robert, proud to see a man he respected sitting in the seat in front of him. “If you ever need us, we’re here for you also.”

“Thank you. Father Kong will now lead Il Martello di Dio. We’ll stay in touch through him.”

“Why keep The Hammer of God going?” asked Thorne. “I thought this put The Order down for good.”

“It hurt them, but we fear they still have an ember of life. Father Sin and several of the others managed to escape,” said Father Kong. “And where there’s a small fire, a raging inferno looms.” Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “If you ever get word of Samuel, anything, please let us know.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” said the Pope, standing, extending his hand. They said their goodbyes, and Robert and Thorne headed for the door. “God be with you,” said the Holy Father. “His favor and His blessings.”

Robert turned and smiled. “And also with you.” When Robert and Thorne were gone, Father Kong sat down in front of the Pope’s desk. “Holy Father, shouldn’t we tell them?”

“Tell them what?” asked the Pope. “We have no real proof.”

“But the chance of all three going missing is almost impossible.”

“Yes, and I too believe they’re alive, but we have nothing firm.” Pope Pius stroked his chin. “Deep down, I’m sure Mr. Veil feels the same. Keep an eye on him. If he finds the boy, we need to be there.”

“Yes, Holy Father. I understand.”

Epilogue

H
igh in the snow drenched mountains of Switzerland, an old man sat on the porch of his private retreat, rocking back and forth in his chair. He watched three boys playing in the snow, each of them snug and warm in new snowsuits; one wearing blue, one red, and the last green, making it easy for the Black Pope to identify them from a distance.

Already a year after coming to live with him, the boys showed even more promise than he first realized. Each of them had developed a special skill. One showed extreme depth of thought, one brilliant strategy, and the last, a magnificent writer and orator. All three picked up languages with ease. Math, history and science seemed like playthings in their hands.

But one of the boys, the child in the red snowsuit, now on his back making an angel in the white powder, possessed a trait that the Black Pope and his people had waited for over a decade to boast about.

The Black Pope had watched the child grow stronger each day, directing the other two boys as a general would his troops.
Marvelous.

The leader, the boy in red will one day rule the world.

Samuel ran up the stairs. “Grandfather, come play with us. We’re going to build a snowman.”

The Black Pope smiled. “Let me sit for awhile and rest. I’ll play with you a little later.”

Samuel gave the old man a hug and jumped down the stairs. He headed back toward Eduardo and Felipe, then stopped and turned. “And thanks for the new snowsuit, Grandfather. Blue’s my favorite color,” he said.

PREVIEW

BLOOD

A NOVEL BY

REGINALD COOK

© Copyright 2011

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Blood
by Reginald Cook. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect content of the forthcoming edition.

Prologue

A
bdul Aziz Muhammad pushed his seat back as soon as the pilot turned off the seatbelt sign, and announced that it was safe to move about the cabin. Not long after, he felt the Boeing 707 level off and cruise at what the pilot said was forty thousand feet. The passengers were informed that the flight would be a smooth one, with clear skies and cooperative weather all the way to Washington D.C., his final destination.

Abdul’s business in Los Angeles had gone well, but he still had much to do, and couldn’t completely rest, even though he’d been awake for nearly seventy-two hours. A tightness in his stomach gnawed at him.

He rubbed his belly, took a deep cleansing breath and the cramps subsided.

“I know how you feel,” said a woman’s soft voice from the isle seat next to him.

Abdul opened his eyes, and the gentle gaze of an elderly woman, the perfect picture of a grandmother, smiled back at him.

“I don’t quite care for flying either,” she continued. “But my son thought it would be nice for me to get out of Virginia and see the grandkids.”

Abdul was in no mood for small talk, but forced a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “It gives me comfort to know I’m not alone.” The elderly woman extended her hand. “Norma,” she told him.

“Norma Jennings.” Abdul sat up, introduced himself, and gently shook Norma’s hand. “Were you in Los Angeles visiting?” she inquired.

“No, business,” Abdul answered, his smile fading as he remembered the task at hand.

Norma’s face went flush. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Abdul took her hand and stroked it. “No, no, forgive my rudeness.

I’m just a little tired. I need a good night’s sleep.” Norma made small talk with him for the next thirty minutes. As she droned on about her grandkids, her dead husband and her children, Abdul feigned interest, but inside, the pressure of his mission, his task, loomed large and heavy. It took everything in him to keep from shaking uncontrollably.

Abdul excused himself and headed for the bathroom. He doused his face with cold water, sat down on the toilet, head in his hands, and gathered himself. When he agreed to the meeting in Los Angeles, he didn’t expect to be hit with so much, so fast. He dried his face.
Soon it’ll
be over
, he thought.
I’ll make contact with Robert Veil and Nikki Thorne
in Washington, pass on the information provided by my associates in Los
Angeles, and my duty will be done
. His mind drifted to his wife, Elise, and their ten year old twins, Rommel and Maxine.

The plane shook hard, almost throwing Abdul to the floor. The seatbelt sign appeared with a simultaneous ding, and the captain asked everyone to take their seats. When Abdul reached his, he found Norma, eyes closed, gripping the armrests like her life was at stake.

Abdul touched her shoulder, and this time,
he
comforted her with a smile. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “it’s just a little turbulence. It’ll pass soon.”

Norma gave a nervous smile, and again, pressed her eyelids tight.

Abdul fastened his seatbelt and looked out at the noon day sky. He smiled. He’d done the world a great service, and was sure Allah would smile on him.

A bright flash and a loud explosion slapped him out of his trance.

The plane rocked back and forth, tossing several passengers, who had obviously ignored the seatbelt sign, around the cabin like confetti.

Screams filled the cabin as the plane nosed downward. Abdul looked over at Norma, who clutched her chest, face purple, tongue protruding, eyes bulging.

Abdul asked Allah to keep him, and looked out at the plane’s right engine, now ablaze, leaving a trail of black steaming behind them.

Suddenly, the plane leveled off, but continued to rock and shake, and the captain ordered everyone to prepare for an emergency landing.

Abdul looked over at Norma, and knew at once she would not have to suffer through the catastrophe about to happen. He stared out through the smoke and fire. The voices and screams faded away. Below, patches of gray, green and brown moved up fast. Abdul gritted his teeth.
If it’s
my time to meet Allah, I won’t do so as a coward
. He braced himself, leaned over and prayed.

It was unlike anything Abdul had ever experienced, even as a soldier fighting the Russians in Afghanistan. There was a hard crash and he watched the plane tear apart. He heard the screams and cries of the others fade away, and realized he’d been thrown from the aircraft, still strapped in his seat. He hit the ground and felt his right arm break, bounced several times and came to a hard, grinding stop. His body racked with pain, and unable to move for half an hour, maybe longer, Abdul laid face down, nearly suffocating in the dirt. Finally, he rolled the tattered seat over and faced the sky, the sun beating down on his throbbing face. He tried to move his right arm, but a searing pain protested, so he reached over with his left hand, undid the seatbelt and struggled to his feet, sweat burning his eyes.

His vision adjusted. He focused hard on the area around him. They had crashed in rocky terrain, and below him, in a flat ravine about a hundred yards away, lay most of the plane wreckage. At first, Abdul saw only the smoldering remnants of what once was a masterpiece of human ingenuity and craftsmanship. Then, amongst the sea of twisted, fragmented steel, torn and burnt clothing, cooked flesh, and scattered body parts, he spotted movement in six different areas, and realized he was not the only one to survive. He fell to his knees, unable to stay on his feet any longer, thanked Allah through his tears, then bent over and threw up in the dirt.

A black helicopter roared overhead and made a beeline for the wreckage.
Good
, Abdul thought,
they’ve come to help us.
He leaned back against the rocks and gathered his strength. When he rose up far enough to see what was going on, he counted six men, three attending to the injured, three more examining what was left of the plane, sifting through the remains. Abdul’s cries seeped out as only whispers. He closed his eyes.
It’s okay. Praise be to Allah. I’m alive.
When he finally opened his eyes, his mouth dropped in horror. Systematically, the six men, now holding machine guns, rounded on each survivor and shot them down where they sat or lay.

Abdul gasped and ducked down in the rocks, frantic, terrified. He crawled further into the mountainous area, and curled up like an infant beneath a narrow slab of rock and waited.

“There’s a chair here,” a voice bellowed. “It’s empty!”

“Probably was thrown clear,” came the answer. “We’ll search the area a quarter mile around!”

Abdul listened intently, but didn’t move, his mind racing to make sense of what he had witnessed. He felt his head go light and fought to stay awake, but the pain clawed back and his brain threatened to explode.

Unable to fight any longer, he blacked out.

When he awakened, it was pitch black and completely silent. Stiff and aching, he crawled out from under the rocks, pain racking his body, tears in his eyes. He didn’t know if the men he’d seen earlier were still there, and had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but he made his way over to the area where he had landed. His seat was gone.