Archangel, p.18
ARCHANGEL, page 18
“Yes and no,” answered the cardinal. “Kimball Hayden gets things done whereas restrictions may otherwise retard the efforts to achieve the means. On one hand, under God’s law, I disagree with his methods. But on the other, I also see the reason why he does what he does. It’s the yin and yang of achievement. In order to have one, then you must allow the other. With Kimball Hayden, he works in the Darkness to serve the Light. It’s his means of achievement.”
“He murdered a man, good Cardinal.” This came from Cardinal Fontana. “Are we to dismiss the core of your argument that was tabled for a court-martial hearing?”
“What I ask of you all is to understand that though Kimball’s actions may have been unorthodox in the views of the church, he did so to save those who might have fallen victim to the man he killed. I’m not justifying his actions, but I understand, on some level, and God forgive me, why he does what he does. It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess. Like war, I can guarantee that both sides see their efforts as a just cause. In Kimball’s eyes and the eyes of many, they see Kimball’s actions, no matter how heinous they may appear to us, as justification to right a wrong.”
“Is that what you believe?” the pontiff asked him.
“I believe it’s up to God to decide, not us. Right now, he needs to be reinstated. Since he’s no longer protected by the church, he has become the target of indigenous forces. He needs our help.”
“So, you want to protect a murderer,” said Caputo, who was once Gallo’s strongest supporter. “Is that it?”
“I want you to look at Kimball with an eye towards forgiveness and understand that what he does he does not do out of malice, but as a savior to those who cannot protect themselves. Remember, one fist must be powerful enough to strike down another. Kimball is that fist.”
Cardinal Caputo eased back into his seat as though to deliberate the matter.
“You do understand, good Cardinal,” said the pontiff, “that your utilization of Isaiah and Jeremiah without the approval of the church is a costly one.”
“I understand, Your Holiness.”
“When I assign a cardinal to serve here at the Vatican, it’s a position for life. You, however, knowingly and egregiously broke the rule of law. That calls for your dismissal as a member of this Council, as a member of the Preferiti, and you can no longer serve at the Vatican.”
“I understand.”
“You will, however, be demoted to the rank of archbishop where you will serve the church at the Los Angeles archdiocese. You’re going home to be closer to family.”
Cardinal Gallo’s eyes teared up and, after choking back a sob, was able to find his voice. “Thank you, Your Holiness. You have no idea how much this pleases me.”
“Sometimes, good Cardinal, family is more medicinal than personal ambitions. I think you’ll be happy there.”
“I will be, Your Holiness. If I learned one thing, it’s that family is a precious and wonderful gift.”
“I agree.”
“Before my reassignment, however, I beg the Council on a majority vote to reinstate Kimball Hayden as team leader of the Vatican Knights.”
Cardinal Caputo raised his hand, and said, “Nay.”
Cardinal Fontana raised his hand. “Nay.”
That was two rejections with five votes to go.
Things weren’t going as well as Cardinal Gallo had anticipated.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Joe Abernathy, Walker’s second in command of the kill team, was on the phone trying to determine a plan of action since Cronenberg mobilized the unit. Kimball Hayden was an evolving mist, here one moment and gone the next. CCTVs could not find him. Gait software could not identify him.
The man was simply a wraith.
“Cronenberg’s team at central command are still trying to locate him,” said Abernathy.
Walker stood by the window. Even with Abernathy close by, he could not see him or any of his team members. When people like Kimball Hayden were designated as a targeted killing, camouflage was everything. “So, I’ve been told,” he answered. “That doesn’t mean that he’s not already on top of us. Stay in position and keep your heads on a swivel. Hayden knows enough to clear the perimeter of hostile forces before he makes his approach. He’ll only make himself known if he believes that Cohen’s in danger. Since Vatican Intelligence appropriated my files, I’m sure that Hayden’s come to realize who I am, what my role is in this, the reason behind it, and who’s behind it. And when he does, and he probably has, only then will he understand the full gravity of her situation and come for her.”
“We need to expedite matters,” stated Abernathy.
“We will,” Walker returned. “She’s with ATF investigators and is being interviewed about the bombing. Once they erase her as a suspect in regard to insurance-related issues, she’ll return here. And I believe Hayden will be watching from the shadows.”
“You think he’s watching her now at ATF headquarters?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Where she goes, he probably goes. But Cronenberg’s team hasn’t been able to pick him up through any of the CCTVs. I was informed that Cohen was tracked from camera to camera all the way to the ATF Bureau. But no Hayden. But that doesn’t mean he’s not around. It just means that he’s being careful.”
“I know about Hayden’s background as team leader of the Vatican Knights. I also heard that members of the Vatican Knights just happened to be here, in Los Angeles. Coincidence?”
“They were here serving as security detail to Cardinal Gallo who was here on a personal mission. They have since returned to Rome, meaning that Kimball Hayden is a man without backing.”
“This mission has been a long time in the making,” said Abernathy. “The principals want this threat gone.”
“It’ll happen,” he said. “Tonight, we will drag the cat out of the darkness and into the light.”
“It won’t be that easy. It never is.”
“When you hold something that someone loves, it’s always simpler than you think. Kimball Hayden has a weak spot that is the woman. If he believes that she’s in jeopardy, he’ll move mountains trying to get to her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Abernathy.
And then the connection was severed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
It was the twilight of dusk when Kimball Hayden left the homeless camp. He took back alleys and side streets to get to his truck, which was parked in a dirt lot far from any cameras or surveillance equipment so readily found on telephone poles or mounted on traffic lights.
How long the CIA or Homeland Security had been waiting for this moment to snare Kimball in order to take him weighed heavily on his mind. They had even gone as far as to create an umbilical tie to Shari with Walker, meaning that she was truly sleeping with the enemy without knowing about it. American intel was not only calculative, but they could also be ruthless in their dealings. Shari Cohen was an innocent in all of this, a pawn. The organizations had planned the process down to precision knowing that Kimball would eventually come, see, and fall short of conquering. And the national threat that he had become would finally be neutralized.
I killed a United States senator on the orders of other United States senators along with their cabal of intel collaborators, only to be set within the crosshairs. Now, as a result of my action, Shari is now within those same crosshairs because of her association with me.
Ruthlessness had no boundaries when it came to creating coverups, this he realized.
Starting the vehicle, whose gears ground and protested, he placed the vehicle into DRIVE and made his way to the streets of Los Angeles.
He knew that he should have stayed put knowing that the intel groups were engineering ways to snare him. But the idea of someone like Elliot Walker, a man who relished killing innocent people to make a point, something Kimball was notorious for, also had the ability to kill Shari Cohen within a flash of a moment to achieve his objective. It was a matter of time, Kimball knew, before Walker turned his violence against her to provoke Kimball to expose himself.
Though he tried to stay out of Shari’s life, he also found himself unable to. He wanted to be her guardian knowing that she had developed enemies along the way as a member of the Bureau and the Company. In one attempt, her previous family had been killed by a domestic terrorist—her husband and two children—and she was wounded with the cost of losing a part of her lung. This obsession to protect her, even from afar, was tantamount to his sanity knowing that she would be all right. So here he was—again—willing to go to extremes to keep her safe.
He took a left onto La Brea.
Pulling air deeply through his nostrils and expelling a deep release from his lungs, Kimball knew that without his team of Vatican Knights, he was a warrior alone. Though his skill set would see him far into the battle, fighting an entire unit would be nearly impossible to overcome.
But the word ‘impossible’ doesn’t mean that something can’t be done, he told himself. It simply measures the degree of difficulty. Believe that.
But he couldn’t, not tonight and not without his team. Walker was about to pull the trigger, both figuratively and literally, with time, most likely, running out on Shari Cohen if he did not intervene.
The principals who wanted him dead had played the game of chess well. They discovered Kimball’s weakness and utilized it to its full potential. The chessboard was empty, the Vatican Knights cleared the checkered squares with the black pieces that were Walker’s team remaining.
But it wasn’t checkmate.
. . . Not yet . . .
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Abernathy’s team, under the command of Elliot Walker who remained close to the lure that was Shari Cohen inside the residence, had circled the perimeter of the home. They wore dark clothing and greasepaint, black gloves, and carried suppressed weapons. These people were skilled practitioners in the art of warfare who used the shadows well.
Abernathy, who took post across the street from the residence, though completely hidden by the shadows, checked his watch. It was 10:18 p.m. The four others in his group, all elite combatants, he knew, were also looking at their synchronized watches.
The worst part of surveillance was not knowing when the target was going to show, if at all. Kimball Hayden had been listed as a targeted killing for almost a year since he abandoned the Vatican, the man losing his status and backing of the church. But he had been a ghost ever since, the man moving about unseen, even with the best technology available. Kimball Hayden simply knew how to avoid detection with ease.
He took another glance at his watch.
10:20 p.m.
Time was moving at a glacial pace.
Worse, there was no confirmation that Hayden would, or ever, show up with the possibility of him doing so simply a crapshoot and a gamble on the part of the organization. Using Cohen as the lure to bring Hayden to the fore was a perfect plan on paper. But plans, Abernathy knew, rarely panned out on the battlefield. Even with Shari Cohen the focus of Kimball’s attention, Abernathy knew that in the end—the one thing that can never be planned for—was the human element. And that meant Kimball Hayden can truly never be planned for.
Abernathy sighed inwardly.
Surveying was his least favorite thing since the activity could last days or even months. But Walker promised otherwise by utilizing Cohen to hasten the endeavor.
Still, waiting was eternal when one’s ambition to kill was overriding.
Then at a distance of six hundred feet, headlights entered the neighborhood and pulled to the curb. A moment later, the lights went off.
Abernathy raised a pair of binoculars to survey the vehicle and zoomed in. The lens of the high-tech device whirred as the circular lens rotated to automatically focus to a crystal sharpness.
It was a pickup truck, beat up with dented side panels. It was also a vehicle that was incongruous to the area that saw its share of BMWs and Jaguars that normally cruised the street. Such a truck did not belong in this twenty-four-karat neighborhood at such a late hour.
Abernathy hit his lip mic, then whispered, “Sierra One to Sierra Four.”
“Go.”
“You see the vehicle that pulled close to your location?”
“Affirmative.”
“Check it out. It might be our target.”
“Copy.”
Abernathy, after lowering his binoculars, immediately went to his watch and brought up an app on its faceplate. Enabling it with a quick tap, a symbol of a microphone appeared with the words ‘speak now’ appearing beneath it. Bringing the watch close, he whispered, “Target may be sighted. Stand by.” After attaching the audio file to a particular number, he hit the SEND button.
* * *
Elliot Walker’s phone vibrated. When he looked at the screen, he saw that it was an audio file from Abernathy. Hitting a few buttons to translate the file into text, the message read: TARGET MAY BE SIGHTED. STAND BY.
Tucking the phone into his pocket, Walker went into the garage, opened the safe hidden behind the rack of shelves, and removed his suppressed firearm. Then he checked the magazine—full. Then the bullet inside the chamber, still there, for a total of thirteen rounds.
Shari was in her office.
And in his bones, he knew that this was the moment he’d been waiting for—that moment of liberation from a mission that had been in the making for years. Without confirmation, he knew it was Kimball Hayden who was closing in. He could feel it like a palpable slap to the face, sharp and crisp with the stinging assault that could only have been by the hand of Kimball Hayden.
I know you’re out there, he told himself.
Then he held the weapon before his eyes. It was a black matte Glock that had an extended suppressor that was as long as the gun’s barrel.
Then louder inside his mind, he thought: Come to Papa.
* * *
Sierra Four moved closer to the pickup, which was a dented ruin of a vehicle. The panels were caved in, and duct tape held the rear window of the cab together. Perhaps it was at one time a nice-looking vehicle when it came off the assembly line, but this machine didn’t even appear roadworthy.
Sierra Four moved to a row of nicely pruned hedges that was approximately thirty feet from the pickup.
Everything was silent. Not even crickets sounded.
Lowering his NVG hardware that sat over his Kevlar helmet, he enabled the system that whirred to life. The lenses of the headwear turned green, and then auto-focus took over as the circular lenses spun robotically until they reached a precise clarity point, the images becoming sharp.
Nobody appeared to be inside the vehicle.
Sierra Four then repositioned himself to get a better look inside the cab.
Empty.
Then he tapped his lip mic. “Sierra Four to Sierra One,” he whispered.
“Go.”
“The vehicle appears vacant.”
“You were in the vicinity; didn’t you see anyone leave?”
“Negative.”
“He could be lying low in the cab waiting for an opportunity. You know what to do.”
“What about collateral damage if it’s not him.”
“It’s all part of the game.”
“Copy that.”
Pressing forward without making a sound or disturbing the hedges, Sierra Four moved into position until the doors of the cab were ten feet away. Raising his weapon and directing the mouth of the barrel to the mid and lower sections of the doors, he set off multiple bursts of gunfire. The shots were highly dampened by the suppressor, all low coughs, as bullet holes magically appeared across the vehicle’s doors with a deadly peppering of gunshots.
After more than a dozen shots, Sierra Four made his way toward the vehicle. With his footsteps silent and his movements graceful, he skillfully ejected the nearly empty magazine and reseated another in a quick and fluid fashion. When he reached the pickup, he took the opportunity to pump a few more rounds into the vehicle.
. . . phfttt . . . phfttt . . . phfttt . . . phfttt . . .
Sierra Four maintained his position with the point of his barrel directed at the driver’s side window.
Nothing.
Reaching for the truck’s handle with a gloved hand, he grabbed it and pulled. The door opened on protesting hinges, the operator grimacing against the noise. The front seats were empty, though stuffing bled through the material that had been hit by gunfire.
He turned his attention to the rear of the cab. Reaching for the door that had been struck more than half a dozen times by gunshots, he grabbed the handle and opened the door. The backseats, like the front, were empty with the bench seat damaged by a hail of bullets.
Sierra Four crouched low to take cover behind the vehicle and hit his lip mic. “Sierra Four to Sierra One.”
“Go.”
“The vehicle’s empty.”
“That was your area of observation. Didn’t you see the driver get out?”
“Negative.”
“The damn thing didn’t park by itself.”
“No, sir.”
“Then tell me, is the guy a magician?”
“Negative, sir.”
“That’s right, he’s not. Keep your head on a swivel and police your vicinity. Find him.”
“Yes, sir.” Sierra Four did exactly that. He moved away from the vehicle and slipped into the shadows.
* * *
Sierras Two, Three and Five had been listening to the audio feed. From three different observation points surrounding the house, each man alerted to the fact that their target may be using the shadows to approach their positions, the prey now becoming the predator.
Lowering their NVG goggles and enabling the systems, the landscape took on a green hue with every bush and flower distinct. Night had become day. So, if someone was closing on their position, each man had 360-degrees of clear sight.
Now that the likely enemy was canvassing the area looking for a weak spot to approach the house, the units began to search their personal vicinities. If the target was near, then they would find him. And when they found him, then they would neutralize him. When they had the advantage of technology, technology often won out.
