The Goliath Chamber - Vatican Knights 24 (2021) by Rick Jones (good novels to read .TXT) 📗

reach the shoreline; another five to allow the field commander time to draw distance; and with airspace time considered, perhaps another fifteen minutes, that would take them roughly fifty miles from the coastline. Return time, however, had too many variables to consider, such as blast radius and the ensuing concussive blasts that would surely knock the aircraft from the sky.

As Isaiah monitored the five-minute countdown necessary for the commander and the chopper pilot to draw distance that was considered safe, he scanned the plaza. It appeared as an apocalyptic wasteland that resonated with a horrible emptiness. Once healthy with crowds that gave the area life, they were now gone with perhaps the vacancy a precursor of what was to come. The only indication that everything had not been entirely abandoned were the loose wrappings or empty Styrofoam cups that swirled and floated about with the aid of the rotors’ turning.

Looking at the suitcase and then at his watch, Isaiah said to Nehemiah, “You ready?”

Nehemiah nodded.

“If its rigged,” added Isaiah, “then you have to believe it’ll be quick! Neither one of us will feel a thing.”

When it was believed that everybody within the vicinity of Vatican City had been evacuated to a safer proximity once the five minutes were up—with the exception of the few brave souls still remaining inside the Vatican—Isaiah and Nehemiah teamed up to remove the suitcase from the trunk.

With each grabbing an end of the unit, Isaiah said, “On three! … One! … Two! … Three!”

In unison, they lifted the False Prophet and held it as though waiting for the inevitable, which never happened and was cause for a collected sigh of relief.

“Now,” said Isaiah, “keep it level! Once it’s inside the bay, hopefully we’ll be golden! You ready?”

Nehemiah nodded. “Let’s do it!”

Together, as though they were carrying a holy relic rather than a weapon of mass destruction, they ambled sideways to the chopper’s bay and placed the device onto the floor. Even at forty-plus pounds due to the lead shields that lined the sides, Isaiah strapped the unit tight to keep it from shifting during flight.

Once Nehemiah took his rightful seat, he took inventory of the control panel and reacquainted himself with the familiarity of the knobs and toggle switches. Then powering up the rotors enough for the aircraft to lift, Nehemiah elevated the craft to hover over the landscape.

Isaiah, who kept the bay door open, watched as the cobblestones of the plaza fell away from him as the helicopter rose. Below the chopper, stray wrappers and trash debris continued to wander aimlessly across the empty square. The streets of Rome that surrounded the Vatican City appeared strangely lifeless, which once again invoked images of an apocalyptic after-age of a place now sanitized of all life. The only vestiges that life had ever existed were the free-standing buildings that housed no life at all.

Then as the chopper banked to the west, Isaiah saw the lit-up splendor that was Vatican City within its throng of lights. He noted the cobblestone landing of St. Peter’s Square and the emptiness of a city that was landlocked by Rome, which appeared just as dead as the neighboring Roman streets. Then he saw the Old and New Gardens as the chopper drifted higher and further away. But what caused his heart to sink deep was the pinnacle that was St. Peter’s Dome and the cross that stood upon its spire as the symbol of hope and faith and spirituality. Here, all were welcomed. Here, all would be granted the Light of His love. And here . . . the joy of His word had been spread.

With his hand holding down the False Prophet and his eyes remaining fixed on the place he loved most, Isaiah believed that time was not on their side. They had less than twenty-two minutes of which they needed seven to get to the coast, and even more to draw a safe distance to deny any possible repercussions of the detonation.

Swallowing to rid his throat of that sour lump that had cropped inside while becoming overcome with emotion, Isaiah was able to regain himself. He had lived a good life, a wonderful life, and a life that had meaning and fullness. He had protected those who could not protect themselves. He saved the lives of good men, women and children, which in itself was reward enough. And he did so for the church and as a Vatican Knight, an honor bestowed on very few.

As the H155 chopper drew distance, Vatican City became a glimmer of lights along the landscape.

And then it was gone.

Leaning back, Isaiah openly prayed and wished for an afterlife that would be as rewarding as his corporeal one. With his words carrying through the bay and into the cockpit, Nehemiah joined in with their words uniting to become a single voice.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Monte Soratte Bunker

30 Miles North of Rome

The Monte Soratte Bunker had been closed for nearly six weeks due to renovations. It was truly massive with a number of hallways appearing to run off under the hills, the entire system an enormous web of connecting channels. However, and due to the makeover of Mussolini’s one-time sanctuary for his Fascist regime, maintenance lights had been situated every 100 feet with the illumination, at best, paltry. But they were set up in a particular fashion with the light stalks assembled and placed as though they were marking a specific trail through specific tunnels. What Kimball was looking at was a designed route with a specific purpose.

The Vatican Knight moved quietly along the corridors in search of Shari Cohen. In his hand was his assault rifle and against his thigh was the sheathed knife, the man ready for battle. Continuing to follow the standing stems of lights that were facing the center of a long hallway, Kimball moved as though he was gliding over the surface instead of walking upon it—the man graceful and silent as rolling smoke.

After turning left and then