The black monk, p.7
The Black Monk, page 7
Russo's voice grew steely. "Don't be arrogant, Jonah. This isn't a game. The Vatican Knights may not have Kimball Hayden on this mission, but their loyalty to the Church is unwavering. They will stop at nothing to take you down."
"Then let them try," Jonah retorted, his voice unwavering. "They'll find my defenses are far more formidable than they bargained for."
A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the crackle of the flames. Finally, Russo spoke, his voice laced with resignation.
"Very well, Jonah. You've been warned. I take no responsibility for the consequences of your actions."
"Thank you for the heads-up, Cardinal," Jonah said with a feigned sincerity. "Time to prepare for my 'guests.'"
Before Russo could utter another word, Jonah abruptly cut off the connection, most likely leaving the Cardinal to stare at the dead satellite phone on his end.
In the confines of his chamber, Jonah smiled with malicious amusement: a party was coming to town.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The sound of the aircraft engines filled the cabin, vibrating through the polished steel and leather seats. The Vatican Knights sat in their assigned positions as they prepared for the mission ahead.
"It doesn’t feel right, does it?" Samuel said, his eyes fixed on the empty seat where Kimball Hayden would have normally sat.
"Focus," Isaiah said. "We can't afford to dwell on it now. What matters is the mission."
As their commanding officer, Isaiah could feel the adjusted weight of a new responsibility bearing down on him as he stared out the window at the endless expanse of clouds below. They all knew what they had signed up for when they became Vatican Knights, the possible outcome of a shortened life, but the absence of Kimball Hayden left a void that seemed impossible to fill.
"Isaiah?" Jeremiah's voice cut through the drone of the engines. "What's our move once we touchdown?"
"We stick to the plan," Isaiah replied. "We locate the site, infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat. We do this for Kimball."
"I understand that," Jeremiah responded, adjusting the straps of his tactical vest. "I was talking about the exact location in regard to the point of origin. Any news on that front?"
“Satellites are still searching.”
The cabin fell silent with each man lost in thought as they mentally prepared for the operation ahead. Their faces were fixed with determination, eyes gleaming with a fire that only the most elite warriors possessed.
As the plane flew at an elevation of 22,000 feet, the landscape below transforming from an abstract tapestry to a vivid mosaic of colors, the Vatican Knights readied themselves for the challenges that lay ahead. It was more than just a mission; it was a tribute to the man who had shaped them into the fighters they were today. As the plane continued its descent, the Vatican Knights' faces were a tableau of concentration and tenacity, with each man grappling with his own memories of Kimball and the onus of the mission ahead.
Though the silence in the cabin was palpable, Isaiah could feel the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing against its walls.
Then evenly, he said, "Listen up, it's time for a mission review."
Jeremiah shifted in his seat, cracking his knuckles softly as he leaned forward. Samuel remained his usually stoic self, while Nehemiah and Job exchanged glances.
"Jonah's stronghold," Isaiah began, unfolding a map and laying it flat across the table before them, "could be anywhere within a five-mile radius. Our objective is twofold: infiltrate the stronghold and dismantle the operation from within. Now, the Black Monk used to be one of us, so he knows our methods and our tactics, which benefits him but is a disadvantage to us. Who he has surrounded himself with, we don’t know. But we have to assume that he’s smart enough to surround himself with enough man and firepower to take us on. So, let's stay focused and be prepared for anything. Hopefully, when we touch down, Vatican Intelligence will have the necessary intel to steer us in the right direction. When that happens, we'll have to be surgical in our approach, meaning that there’s no room for error. We must also assume that the Black Monk is expecting us as he has people on the inside working on his behalf to undermine the pope’s authority."
As the plane carried them closer to their destination, the Vatican Knights focused on the task at hand, going over scenarios by committing to memory plans B, C, and D.
As a palpable sense of resolve filled the cabin, each man silently checked his equipment, ensuring that every weapon and tool was in perfect working order. The sound of magazines being inserted into firearms and blades being sheathed echoed through the confined space, punctuated by the occasional click of a buckle being fastened or the hum of electronic devices powering up.
As they prepared to land, their thoughts wandered to the empty seat among them, the ghostly presence of their fallen leader who would not be joining them on this mission. They knew that, despite Kimball’s absence, he would be watching over them, guiding their hands and guarding their hearts. And so, with steel in their eyes and fire in their souls, the Vatican Knights prepared themselves for the battle to come.
"Godspeed," Isaiah murmured, his voice barely perceptible above the drone of the plane's engines.
The silence in the aircraft was as heavy as a shroud, punctuated only by the distant hum of the soft turn of the engines as the Vatican Knights sat in their assigned seats, each lost in thought.
Isaiah sat in his seat with his eyes closed, meditating. He knew that this mission was one of the most important tasks that the Vatican had ever entrusted to them. Now that he was the Master Commander of the Vatican Knights, failure was not an option.
As the plane descended toward the airport, Isaiah's mind continued to race with thoughts of what lay ahead – the battles they would face together, the obstacles they would need to overcome, and the lives that hung in the balance, while under his command.
Life was not easy.
"Touchdown in five minutes," the pilot announced over the speaker.
And five minutes later, as the plane touched down and came to a stop on the tarmac, the Vatican Knights made their way to a waiting black SUV provided by the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Alba Iulia, which took them to their next location.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Central Command Center of Vatican Intelligence
The Vatican, Vatican City
Deep within the Central Command Center of Vatican Intelligence, Brother Matteo sat before the main console, his fingers poised over the array of buttons and screens that adorned it. His eyes, sharp and focused, scanned the endless streams of data cascading across the monitors, each one a window into the world of clandestine operations and covert intelligence.
As he monitored the feeds with unwavering diligence, his attention was suddenly drawn to a blip on the radar—an anomalous signal pulsating at the coordinates of Jonah's presumed stronghold in Romania. Zooming in on the location, the flickering light of the screens cast shadows across his features.
Brother Matteo then keyed in a series of commands, initiating a deep dive into the encrypted transmissions emanating from the source. With each byte decrypted, the information unfolded before him.
Realizing the significance of the data, Brother Matteo reached for the communications device at his side and issued a call to Fathers Essex and Auciello, requesting their presence.
* * *
In the dimly lit upper level of the Central Command Center of Vatican Intelligence, Fathers Essex and Auciello stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the multitude of screens that adorned the walls before them. Live feeds from neighboring countries flickered across the monitors, each one a grim display of chaos and violence.
As they watched, scenes unfolded before their eyes. In Spain, picketers clashed with law enforcement, hurling Molotov cocktails amidst the backdrop of burning cars and billowing smoke. France and Italy fared no better, their streets engulfed in similar scenes of unrest and discord. In other countries, dummies, all symbolic representations of political incumbents, were burned in effigy.
Fathers Essex and Auciello knew that behind the facade of these riots lay a more insidious truth. The influence of AI-driven disinformation and misinformation was spreading like wildfire across social platforms, fanning the embers of hatred and division, whereas candidates with intemperate viewpoints in the upcoming elections promised to curb the violence with reforms. The officeholders, however, were decrying the notion that the information saturating the platforms was untrue. Yet, their measures of working damage control had been falling short.
As they watched the violence escalate, the chaos seemed unstoppable. Law enforcement officials deployed smoke grenades and water cannons in a desperate bid to quell the unrest, but their efforts seemed futile against the tide of anger and frustration sweeping through the streets.
“The power of the Internet,” Father Essex commented softly.
Then the small light globe to a nearby phone lit up, the phone itself chiming a weird ring.
Father Auciello hit the speaker button. “Yes, Brother Matteo?”
“There’s something on my monitor you need to see.”
“What?”
“I picked up an anomalous signal that might interest you.”
“We’re on our way.”
Leaving the windowed office on the upper tier that overlooked the entire command center, Fathers Essex and Auciello made their way to Brother Matteo’s console.
“Brother Matteo,” was all Father Essex said.
The light from the computer monitor cast a sterile glow on Brother Matteo's face as he leaned closer to the display on his console. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a symphony of rapid clicks and taps.
"Fathers, I have something here you might be interested in. An anomaly. A ping off one of our geostationary satellites used by Vatican Intelligence. It appears a signal from a satellite phone bounced off the satellite, potentially reflecting back down to a specific location. I’m talking about a signal transmitted from here . . . to Transylvania.”
The theory had been simmering for days - a gamble that someone within the Vatican could be using strategically placed reflectors to bounce encrypted messages from a mundane satellite phone, bypassing conventional interception.
"And the sending location?" Father Essex asked.
Matteo tapped the keyboard rapidly, lines of code scrolling across the screen. "I was able to triangulate the sending phone's position based on the bounce. It's within Vatican City. The closest location, though the coordinates are not precise, came from the vicinity of the Cardinalatial Apartments."
Father Essex did not appear to be stunned by this. “The Cardinalatial Apartments,” he stated simply.
“How many cardinals reside there?” asked Father Auciello.
Brother Matteo typed in the commands to bring up the resident manifest. After the list appeared on the screen, he said, “Thirty-two.”
After reading over the list, Father Auciello pointed to one name in particular. “Right there,” he said.
Father Essex nodded. "This confirms it," he said. "The Black Monk has an associate within the Vatican. Moreso . . . he is part of the company the pontiff keeps.”
Then from Father Auciello. “And the final point of the sent signal, did it happen to end up at the AI’s origin point in Transylvania?”
Brother Matteo typed, and new data surfaced. On the screen, a circular dot glowed, marking the coordinates of the Black Monk’s stronghold with pinpoint accuracy: 46.372222°, 24.822500°. These were the coordinates within the Făgăraș Mountains, a subrange of the Transylvanian Alps in Romania.
“Are you sure, Brother Matteo?” asked Father Essex.
“This is where the signal ended. So yes, I’m more than just sure. I’m positive.”
Father Essex patted Brother Matteo’s shoulder—a job well done.
“Now,” Father Auciello began, “bring up a satellite image of the set coordinates.”
Brother Matteo’s fingers moved across the keys. With a sense of purpose, he typed in the specific set of coordinates, commanding the overhead satellite to bring up images of the Făgăraș Mountains in Romania.
As the satellite responded to his command, Brother Matteo leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the screen, as the satellite lens zoomed in. Instead of the rugged terrain of the mountains, all he saw was a thick canopy of trees, stretching endlessly across the landscape like a sea of green.
He then tried adjusting the settings, hoping to uncover any hidden details obscured by the dense foliage. Yet, no matter how much he manipulated the controls, the result remained the same—the screen displayed nothing but the impenetrable forest. “Nothing but timberland,” he uttered. “But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t anything underneath. The canopy’s too thick to see through.”
“Have you conducted a record search from the Oficiul Național al Registrului Comerțului?” Father Essex asked him.
Brother Matteo nodded. “There are no known structures in the area that’s chronicled. So, I checked the defense sector and the Romanian Ministry of National Defense. Though I couldn’t find any records of a structure, that doesn’t mean that the departments or directorates within the ministry for Defense Policy or Military Intelligence don’t have their own internal systems for managing documentation related to military facilities. They probably do, so I need to dig deeper into their files because I believe something’s down there.” Brother Matteo typed in coordinates east of the alleged site to a road that wound upward along a mountainside until it disappeared under the treetops. “I discovered this earlier . . . I figure that road has to go somewhere, right?”
“No doubt,” said Father Auciello. The lane, which was only wide enough for a vehicle, was a barren stretch with no place to take cover in case of a firefight. “The road’s too exposed, which is not a practical means to conduct a military strike. It might be prudent that the Vatican Knights parachute in from a different point.” Then he asked, “Is there a nearby site that’s open, a place they can either parachute or rappel into safely?”
More taps on the keyboard from Brother Matteo, zooming away from the key coordinates. With an expanded view, they saw multiple clearings, but the safest was seven clicks away, which was approximately four and a half miles from the stronghold, though the terrain was extremely rugged between the two points.
“We’ll get a message to the Vatican Knights,” Father Auciello said. “In the meantime,” he pointed to a particular name on the resident manifest, “I need to inform the pontiff of our findings. He needs to know that one who sits upon the council of the Society of Seven may be working in collusion with the man who’s trying to undermine his authority.”
Placing and clasping his hands behind the small of his back, Father Auciello began to climb the stairs to the top tier of the facility, to where his office was located, to make a personal call to the pontiff asking for a closed council meeting along with Father Essex.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Papal Chamber
The Apostolic Palace, The Vatican
In the quiet sanctum of his papal chamber, the pontiff sat at his desk, surrounded by towering shelves filled with ancient texts and volumes of Church doctrine. His hands moved methodically across parchment, his pen scratching softly as he penned the words of an encyclical, a profound reflection on faith and moral guidance for the faithful.
As he immersed himself in crafting his message, a gentle knock echoed through the chamber. The pontiff looked up, his expression welcoming Father Auciello and Father Essex.
Father Auciello approached with his demeanor conveying the magnitude of the news he carried. In Father Essex’s hand was an iPad.
“Again, with the iPad,” the pontiff stated, pointing to the device. “I’m afraid technology has passed me by, which is I’m old school and one who prefers a simple pad and pen.”
Father Essex smiled. "It’ll be fine, Your Holiness. We've prepared a visual briefing for you."
Father Essex carefully placed the iPad on the desk in front of the pontiff, who peered at the device with narrowed eyes. Finally, he reached out and tapped the monitor.
A detailed map populated the screen, a jagged range of treetops occupying the center where a red circle pulsed on the map.
"This," Father Essex began, pointing to the map, "is the Black Monk's stronghold. We finally have its location thanks to an intercepted communication. As you know, Your Holiness, our efforts to locate the stronghold through conventional means came with partial results. Now, it’s been confirmed. This location, however, even though there's no record of any settlement in this region or historical accounts, may have been a clandestine military facility at one time. But this is speculation since we believe that a facility is there, though it’s unrecorded. Nevertheless, Your Holiness, we’ve identified a drop zone, a relatively flat area within a few kilometers of the stronghold. The Vatican Knights can parachute in and establish a foothold. Though, the terrain from points A to B will be difficult to master. The only other plausible means of accessing the facility is a single mountainside road that leads to the stronghold. But that road is highly visible with no means to take cover in case of a skirmish. And should the Black Monk discover that the Vatican Knights are en route to their position, he’ll be monitoring that route. And if that’s the case . . . the Vatican Knights wouldn’t stand a chance."
“This area to parachute in, how difficult of a terrain are we talking about?”
“Deep gorges and a steep vertical wall that must be mastered. It’s a route the Black Monk probably wouldn’t be monitoring given the density of the forest and the dangers involved.”
“It sounds like the Vatican Knights might be killed before they even get there.”
“It’s the only way in, I’m afraid,” Father Auciello told him, “without exposing them to the Black Monk’s forces. The single road leading to the facility winds around a mountainside with a sheer wall going straight up on one side of the road, and a sheer wall going straight down on the other, with the road only wide enough for one vehicle to pass. If the Vatican Knights are discovered, there will be nowhere for them to take cover, nowhere for them to go but over the edge, a fall of six hundred feet. The mission would be over before it’s begun.”
